Memories and Revelations
by betty brant
Summary: Movieverse. Pairing: PP&MJ. An MJ POV story of the last act of the movie. A resourceful MJ struggles to solve the mystery of Peter Parker, helped by a few intriguing memories and various exciting events. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Lots of the dialogue in this story comes from the movie Spider-man 2. The characters belong to Marvel and others. I promise to put them back when I'm done._

_A/N: I wrote this story partly as an exercise in controlling P.O.V. and partly as an exercise in inserting flashbacks naturally into the flow of a narrative. The P.O.V. is MJ's (3rd Person Restricted). The story is mainly comprised of her memories and flashbacks. I've incorporated the memories with MJ's thoughts and reflections; the flashbacks (as well as a few of MJ's thoughts) are set off with italics. I hope this is clear. I appreciate any and all reviews, of course, but if some of you care to give me constructive feedback over how well (or badly) I managed_ _the P.O.V. and the flashbacks in this story, I'd be especially grateful. Thanks, and enjoy!_

Memories and Revelations

Part I

In her cosy Manhattan apartment, Mary Jane Watson was having trouble keeping her mind on her work. Ever since a certain irresponsible guy had jerked her around by suggesting out of the blue that they "pick up where they left off" she hadn't been able to concentrate on anything. She didn't need this hassle. Her wedding was in just three days, and her life was hectic enough without her mind always zinging back to Peter's hopeful yearning face, and the persistent feeling that he had wanted to tell her something important. Why had he come to her play anyway? He'd caused her to flub one of her lines, he'd ruined her evening, and now he was ruining her life.

MJ and her fiancé John Jameson were spending one of her rare, weekly evenings off together as they usually did lately, finalizing wedding preparations. MJ was sitting cross-legged on her brightly colored carpet with a stack of little envelopes and the pages of her guest list in front of her on the floor. Beside her, she'd placed a bowl of freshly popped popcorn for her guest, who was reclining comfortably on the couch just watching her. From the first day, John seemed content to let MJ and his mother, Joan, do all the work of this wedding. Typical guy, she thought. She was busily opening response cards, checking off names, and trying to decide at which tables she should put people she'd never met. Meanwhile John, probably thinking he was keeping her entertained, chatted to her about this and that. Under other circumstances, MJ would have been amused to find that she needed only half of her attention to carry on a conversation with him, to check off her list and to come up with a preliminary table list for John's mother. She was the queen of multi-tasking. Multi-thinking, too, apparently. With the other half of her brain, MJ was distractedly wondering if the guests would even all fit in the hall, given the extraordinary number of people that John's mother had invited.

MJ checked off the latest name, and put the list to one side. Being the star of such a big wedding was beginning to make her very uncomfortable, she realized, with the half of her brain that wasn't involved in counting up the remaining unopened RSVPs. The wedding was going to be a spectacle, and it was making MJ feel as though her life were turning into some big show. She often thought she would prefer a much less formal wedding, something small and intimate, an outdoor wedding, perhaps, on a hill ... Shaking off the thought, MJ bent over to pick up another envelope. Maybe she was just feeling uncomfortable because John's mother had completely taken over the wedding planning. Joan Jameson had spent the 5 short weeks of her son's engagement ordering flowers, planning the dinner menu, choosing the church, selecting the music, and practically drawing up the guest list single-handedly. MJ was starting to feel out of her league with this wedding, a sinking, drowning feeling which was making her increasingly uncomfortable.

_MJ looked at her reflection in the mirror. The wedding dress was a beautiful soft chiffon, an elaborate billowy affair, with a wide cream puff of a skirt consisting of snowy silk over layers of tulle, and a huge cathedral train stretching out behind. The pretty neckline was a soft V, with one tiny frill across the chest stretching away on either side to form ruffled off-the-shoulder cap sleeves. It was a dream dress, the archetypal wedding dress, and she looked like a fairy princess in it. But was it really her?_

_"I don't know," she said doubtfully. She thought about a few other lovely dresses she'd tried on today. There had been a delicately embroidered indian cotton with a slender, flowing skirt, a sweetheart neckline and wispy gossamer lace sleeves and edges; it had made her look like a sweet, old-fashioned maiden, more innocent and virginal even than Wilde's silly Cecily Cardew. Then there was the elegantly simple peau-de-soir silk, unadorned and strapless, with a slim, misty skirt. She had looked very chic and sophisticated, a woman of the world, in that one. Which was the right dress?_

_She swivelled to look at the back of the dress, which was unique. The soft frills and ruffles from the front came together in a close clasp below the nape of her neck, then there was a bare span showing a hint of skin, and then, beneath her shoulder-blades, came the straight, confining back of the dress, held tightly closed with a line of dozens of tiny white buttons down the middle. "Isn't this one kind of expensive and elaborate?" she asked her companions uncertainly._

_"Oh don't worry about the expense, dear, we'll help out," gushed Mrs. Jameson eagerly. "Just look at you! And with this kind of wedding, you'll want the most stunning dress, the fanciest and the biggest one you can find. The bride ought to be the centerpiece."_

_MJ tilted her head to one side, trying out a new perspective. She wished her own mother could be here to help her decide. Unfortunately, weak from her first round of treatments, Madeline Watson was resting at home in bed. She'd offered her unconditional support for whatever dress MJ chose, but it wasn't the same as having her present. In her place, MJ had brought John's mother, who had seemed really eager to come, and her maid of honor, a new girlfriend. "What do you think, Louise?" MJ asked, meeting her friend's laughing eyes in the mirror._

"_If you're not sure, then you probably haven't found the right one yet," advised Louise. "You shouldn't settle; it's your wedding day. Find the dress that really is you."_

However, in the end MJ had decided the fanciest of the dresses would be the most suitable, a decision which had made Mrs. Jameson almost ecstatic with rapture. In MJ's opinion, John's mother was, or at least appeared to be, a rather silly woman. As far as she could tell, Joan spent all of her time redecorating her luxurious house, shopping, throwing lavish dinner parties, and now planning her son's wedding. Having been a guest on almost a weekly basis at these dinner-parties during the last two months, MJ had observed her fiancé's mother on many occasions. She'd concluded that maybe Mrs. Jameson had adopted this frivolous behavior over time to fill the absence left by her workaholic husband. She shivered at the thought that her life could ever come to resemble the life of Mrs. Jameson.

Not that she disliked John's mother, far from it. John had obviously inherited his good nature from her – a fortunate thing, considering how hot-tempered and irascible his father was. MJ liked most people, and she honestly did like John's small, plump, vivacious mother ... although she had to admit she preferred the talkative Joan Jameson in small doses. Somehow, too, her conversations with Joan never got past the superficial level of household arrangements and mutual compliments. MJ would compliment Joan's beautiful house or the delicious meal she was serving, and Joan would praise MJ's clothing or latest performance. It never quite felt real.

MJ supposed she should be grateful that Joan was taking charge of the wedding, since John was very uninterested in all those details. She could have been doing all of the work of what was rapidly becoming an enormous society wedding by herself. Instead she was barely doing any of it, only the secretarial stuff. Well, maybe that was the problem. MJ liked to think of herself as an independent woman, and she liked to do things herself. It was weird to be a bystander at her own wedding. It was leaving her with too much time on her hands, time which she kept filling with doubts, questions, fears and uncertainties.

No wonder stray thoughts of Peter Parker, her annoying _former_ best friend, kept intruding. Tonight, maybe because John's relaxing on the couch was bugging her, she found herself suddenly thinking that if she and Peter were getting married ... not that she would ever, in a million years, marry such a goofy, irresponsible guy ... a guy who apparently enjoyed playing weird head games with her ... but if she were to, oh, in a flight of madness, agree to marry him ... he'd be down on the floor beside her, and they'd be doing this list checking together. He would tease her in his gentle way, or make the occasional dry and funny remark about the stuffed shirts on the list ... not that they'd have much of a guest list, come to think of it ...

MJ opened a new envelope and pulled out a little card, pushing this latest thought of Peter away again. She was soon to be a bride, for heaven's sake. What was she doing imagining marrying another man, a man she was certainly no longer in love with? Shouldn't she be a little more excited about _this_ wedding? Why did it all feel so much like a chore?

MJ looked down at the RSVP in her hand, from "Aunt Ida." She had no idea who this woman was, because she only had an Aunt Anna in her family, not an Aunt Ida. In fact, apart from her Auntie Anna, who was her favorite aunt, the only other "aunt" she'd thought seriously about inviting to this thing was Aunt May, a thought she'd immediately rejected because she knew Aunt May would probably bring Peter as her escort. The last thing she wanted on her wedding day was that strange tunnel-vision thing that always seemed to happen between her and Peter, to happen again, say as she was walking down the aisle, or repeating her vows. _Imagine losing your place in the service while repeating your vows_, she thought, _how embarrassing would that be!_

Her mind flicked back to the fundraiser at the Science Library, the night she and John had gotten engaged. At the start of the event, as she'd been descending the stairs into the well-dressed crowd on John's arm, MJ had spotted Peter. Actually, Peter's face had almost seemed to leap out of the crowd at her. For some reason, the stunned expression he was wearing tugged insistently at her heart. The public smile faded from her face as their eyes met. She had wondered distractedly, still holding the arm of her handsome, no, _delicious,_ and _very _reliable boyfriend, why Peter Parker was the only one in the place who seemed real. This feeling made her extremely annoyed at herself. What was wrong with her? She was with a wonderful man, a "true American hero" as his father liked to say; she shouldn't even be noticing a flighty guy who barely had time for her. Looking deliberately away from Peter, she had lifted her head high and pasted a bright, artificial smile on her face.

Then, just over a week ago, the same strange thing had happened again. She was merrily delivering one of her best lines to her friend Reed, who was playing Algernon, declaring, "I hope you have not been leading a double life, pretending to be wicked and being really good all the time. That would be hypocrisy." As she concentrated on infusing just the right teasing lilt into her voice, she'd looked out at the audience to include them in the joke. To her utter amazement, she caught sight of Peter's smiling, keen-eyed face. Even wearing his old glasses perched on his nose, he looked good, way too good, in a navy blue blazer and grey sweater. Then Peter, positively beaming at her, mouthed "Hi," and her stomach turned right over. She completely lost her place in the scene as once again she experienced the dizzying sensation that Peter Parker was the only one in the theatre auditorium who was real. Suddenly there was no Cecily, no Algernon, no directors, cast or audience, no one else in the theatre except the two of them.

Why did this keep happening? It was all very odd and unsettling.

"Honey?"

MJ looked over at the couch, where John was smiling uncertainly down at her, "You sure you don't want to invite your friend, the photographer... Peter Parker?"

MJ started guiltily at his question. It was curious that John would bring up Peter, whom he'd never even met, just when she was trying hard not to think about him, and failing miserably in the endeavor. Then she remembered that they had just been talking about the guest list, and the huge number of people on it that neither of them knew. MJ had half-joked, half-complained that hardly any of her friends were even coming – there hadn't been room for them, according to John's mother.

"Positive," she said emphatically, trying not to show her discomfort.

John gave her a puzzled look. "Thought he was your pal," he remarked.

MJ frowned. When she'd first met John's father at one of his mother's dinner parties, she'd made the mistake of mentioning Peter, which was how John knew about him. It was just after she and John had started dating. She'd been seated next to Mr. J. Jonah Jameson at dinner. Feeling nervous, and more than a little intimidated by her brash, larger-than-life host, she had cast about for an innocuous subject of conversation and finally mentioned that they had a mutual friend, her friend Peter Parker, the guy who took the spectacular pictures of Spider-Man. She had assumed, wrongly as it turned out, that since John's father featured Peter's pictures so prominently in his newspaper nearly every day, he would be proud of them.

But instead of finding common ground, MJ had inadvertently launched Mr. Jameson into a rant that she timed at just short of a full half-hour, lasting from the start of the meal all the way through several courses. A smiling Mrs. Jameson had tried changing the subject unsuccessfully a few times, but her oblivious husband continued ranting on and on about irresponsible kids who practically committed extortion by demanding exorbitant payment for news scoops, and "dangerous lunatic vigilantes like that criminal wall crawler." The general conversation had died, the other guests had shifted uncomfortably in their seats, and MJ had silently fumed. By the end of the rant, MJ had been so angry, she had longed to shut Mr Jameson's mouth by stuffing her dinner roll into it. When his father finally paused for a breath, John, who was sitting on her other side, tried to salvage the mood of the evening.

_"How do you know Peter Parker, MJ?" John asked curiously._

_MJ couldn't resist replying, "Peter and I are friends ... great pals, actually. We grew up next door to each other in Forest Hills since we were both six." She cast a sly, sidelong look at Mr. Jameson as she spoke. He had the grace to look a little abashed at this information._

_"Parker's not a bad photographer," Jameson said gruffly to MJ, "But I swear he walks around with his head in the clouds. He's impossible to find when you need him, he's always late ..."_

_"Pete does live in his own little world," MJ quickly agreed, determined to cut short another diatribe. _

_"Don't worry, MJ," John inserted with a grin. "Your friend Peter takes pretty damn good pictures of Spider-Man. Dad may not have much nice to say about them here, but the fact that he prints them proves that they're good ... right Dad?"_

_"Those over-priced comic-book shots?" scoffed Jameson. "No one else can get such clear shots, I'll give Parker that, but he's gotta stop with the hero-worship. I wish he'd quit giving me so many action shots, or those face shots of that webhead from below, or those pictures of him striking ridiculous hero poses at a distance. He needs to get right up close – show us some blemishes."_

_"Um, Spider-Man wears a mask, Mr. Jameson," said MJ frostily. "You're not likely to see many blemishes through a mask." Beside her, John broke into laughter. _

_"So, you're really saying, Dad, that you wish Peter Parker would make Spider-Man look bad by taking bad pictures of him," said John, still chuckling. "I can't believe that you'd even print a bad picture." Then he adopted his reasonable tone, one that MJ was already beginning to find a little irritating. "What Spider-Man does is hardly Peter Parker's fault – he's just a photographer; it's his job to photograph events as they happen. He's not the one making Spider-Man look like a hero." _

_"I think Spider-Man **is** a hero," interjected MJ suddenly, startling herself with her boldness. She carefully avoided looking at John as she said this, although she couldn't have told why. Oh well, in for a penny ... MJ raised her eyes defiantly to Mr. Jameson's face. "He saved me from falling to my death on two occasions," she continued with soft insistence._

_"Oh, that's right," said John thoughtfully. "You told me he saved you from falling off that balcony at the World Unity Festival."_

_"He also saved me from being thrown off the top of the eastern tower of the Queensboro bridge," MJ had to add. _

_"He saved my life, too," spoke up a well-dressed dark-haired woman whose name MJ hadn't caught. "Or at least my best Fendi handbag," she continued, shaking her head with a wry smile. MJ looked at the attractive middle-aged woman at the opposite end of the table. Their eyes met and the woman smiled encouragingly at her. "Two years ago, I was trying to find a taxi after leaving_ _a party late," she said, "when this thug knocks me flat on my back and jumps on top of me, holding a gun to my head. But as soon as he grabs my bag, something whips the gun out of his hand. Next, someone swings down from behind me and yanks him off me. Before I can even sit up, my handbag drops back into my lap_ _with a note tucked into_ _it, saying ‛Courtesy, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.'"  
_

_Over a few nearby murmurs of "Really?" and "Wow!" the woman went on, "I still have the note."_

_MJ looked back at her host. His face had turned an alarming shade of red and he looked as if he were about to explode into another tirade. He raised his finger and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. For once, it appeared that J. Jonah Jameson couldn't think of anything to say ..._

John was still looking at her, waiting for her answer. "Peter Parker?" MJ said, shaking her head with a dismissive little laugh.

"Yeah," said John.

MJ searched for the right words, an incredulous smile on her face. "No, Peter Parker is just..." _Just an incredibly cute-but-irresponsible guy. Oh yeah, and I used to think he loved me, I once fell desperately in love with him myself, and he broke my heart into a million pieces. Now I can't seem to get him to stay out of my mind ... _Her mouth twisted into a self-mocking smile and she looked down at her list. "He's just a great big jerk."

John eyed her as if he didn't quite believe her. "World's full of great big jerks," he observed casually.

MJ looked at her good-looking fiancé, really looked at him, and then extended her left hand. John was such a good man that she couldn't understand why she didn't spend more time thinking about him. Guiltily, she caught one of his hands in her own. He brought it to his lips and kissed it. "_You're_ adorable," she said, giving him her most winsome smile. John was a true gentleman, an all-round good guy. She'd just have to do better. John didn't deserve to come second anywhere, especially not in the head of his fiancée.

He shrugged nonchalantly and smiled, gazing at her steadily with a warm expression. "It's just the uniform."

Holding his affectionate eyes with her own and stroking his fingers lightly with her thumb, MJ thought about their relationship. When they'd first started dating, John had been like a balm for her wounded heart, the perfect antidote to Peter's rejection and his continued indifference to her. John was dependable, warmly affectionate and easygoing. He gave her real affirmation, not just a constant stream of presents as Harry Osborn once had. He didn't blow hot and cold, but continually told her how special she was, how much he liked spending time with her. More importantly, John was a grown up who had never let her down, whether he was picking up her dry cleaning, or meeting her for a date, or taking time out of his busy training schedule to see her show several times.

Lately, though, she'd wondered in the back of her mind if something wasn't missing from their relationship. Sure, John made her feel good about herself. Every encounter was pleasant, every kiss was warm and comforting. But wasn't it all just a little boring? Perhaps this tranquillity had something to do with how things had happened between them. Their friendship had evolved into something romantic so gradually that she had hardly even noticed where it was heading at the time. They'd dated for a few weeks before John had even kissed her. He'd finally done so, on the front step of her apartment building one night after he had thoughtfully taken her to a new play that she'd been dying to see. It had been ... nice, full of affection and devotion. She'd kissed him back, feeling flattered, grateful for his attentiveness, and contented. The next day, they were a couple, without anything more being said.

Then, one evening a month or two ago, they were having a late dinner after a performance. Gently, he'd taken her hand, told her he loved her, and asked her to marry him. MJ had been stunned, because she'd had no idea he was so serious about her. She had asked for time to think about it. Since she'd finally said yes, on the night of the Science Library function, John's happiness had been heartfelt and frequently expressed, but she had found her mind wandering in the oddest directions every time they were together, and her heart had often been heavy.

If only she could do something to add a spark to their relationship. She wanted, for John's sake and her own, to be completely focused on him. She wanted to crave his presence, and to feel an urgency in their kisses that would drive every other thought from her brain. He deserved nothing less.

MJ thought back to the most passionate and romantic encounter of her life. She decided that now would be the perfect time to heat up her relationship with John, and she knew just how to do it.

"Lean your head back for me," she urged with a coaxing smile.

"Put my head back?" asked John, clearly thrown by this odd, unexpected request.

MJ got onto her knees, crawling in the direction of the couch, still with a teasing smile on her face. "Yeah, just do it," she wheedled.

"Put my head back," repeated John, blinking in bemusement, as MJ positioned one of her cute flowered pillows on the wooden arm of the sofa, so that he could rest his head there easily.

Leaning over the arm of the couch, MJ placed one hand on John's chest, and curled her other arm down about John's neck. Then she bent slowly, seductively, over his face, her hair falling around them like a curtain. She rested her mouth on his, pressing her lips firmly onto his lips and brushing them repeatedly. She could feel John responding to her, a warm hand coming up to stroke her cheek through her hair and to clasp her gently around the neck. Her mind veered off for a minute to another kiss, a breathtaking kiss of sweetness and ardor in a chilly cemetery, and she sternly ordered herself, "_Focus!_" She moved her lips more desperately over John's, drawing in a breath and opening her mouth, determined to go all out. Again the memory of another mouth, stronger yet softer than John's, forced its way forward in her brain. She shoved it resolutely away, pushing her lips onto John's more slowly, more carefully, sure that she must be forgetting some technique or trick. A lingering memory of the satin feel of eager, forceful lips, clinging to hers and capturing them in a tender, inexorable hold once more obtruded, and MJ finally gave up. She conferred on John a last succession of tiny little kisses, hoping against hope that something would flare between them, and, when nothing happened, she straightened up, pulling away.

"Wow," John said in a hushed voice. "I'm back on the moon." He exhaled heavily.

MJ was thinking about another upside-down kiss, one which she couldn't seem to purge from her memory.

It had been so good that sometimes she thought it must have been a fantasy. But she knew that it wasn't a fantasy. After all, another kiss, an even deeper one, had happened in a cemetery, and that kiss had certainly been real if she was still feeling its ghostly echoes now. The man who had shared it with her was real too ... Peter Parker, who had come around looking for her at her play just a few nights ago, his eyes a deep and magnetic blue, asking her out two years too late, reminding her gravely that she had once told him she loved him ...

She realized that John was looking up questioningly at her. "You up there with me?" he asked softly.

She smiled down at him sadly, and then moved quietly back to her spot on the carpet, intending to continue her list checking. John watched her uncertainly for a minute, then picked up the bowl of popcorn and began munching. "Do you have a lot left to do?" he asked her.

"Not too much," replied MJ distractedly, finding Aunt Ida's name at last, and checking it off. She decided to put this unknown Aunt with a table of John's other relatives, since she was probably one of John's family. She continued cheerfully, "You can take this list back with you to your mother tonight. I know she's anxious about the seating arrangements."

MJ worked steadily for the next half hour, opening envelopes, checking the RSVP cards against her list and stacking them in a neat pile. She forced herself to keep focused entirely on the task at hand. Sensing her preoccupation, John finished the entire bowl of popcorn by himself, and quietly went to sleep on her sofa.

When she was done with her task, MJ stood up and walked over to her window, gazing out over the nighttime cityscape, and then glancing back into her apartment. John was still sleeping peacefully, looking as handsome as a movie star. She supposed it was a comfort to know that he didn't snore, and that he looked as good asleep as he did awake ... no drooling, no unpleasant habits. So why did she feel so depressed?

Was it because she had just realized that no amount of kissing would turn John's lips into Peter Parker's?

She didn't pretend to understand why, but the memory of Peter's kiss seemed to be stamped onto her brain. _Surely I don't still have feelings for Peter Parker_, she thought desperately. _I'm over him, I've moved on to a great new guy_ ...

All at once, she recalled the long ago night when she'd shared another upside-down kiss with someone, with a stranger. Did he even remember it? she wondered wistfully.

For MJ, that kiss, more than the one she'd shared with Peter in the cemetery, was a memory to be treasured. Peter's kiss, wonderful as it had been, had preceded so much heartbreak that it was afterwards a little tainted with the taste of tears. But Spider-Man's kiss ... now _that_ memory was pure and perfect. She even liked to relive that kiss occasionally, mostly when she was feeling down.

_"Do I get to say thank you this time?" she asked him softly._

_He didn't reply._

_Heart pounding, MJ reached out toward his mask, intending to grasp the top and pull it straight down. _

_"Wait," he whispered._

_For a moment, she hesitated. Had she presumed too much? Then she reached out again. This time her fingers reached up towards his neck, sliding lightly down it until they found a seam below his adam's apple. She slipped her fingertips underneath it, finding an edge. Ever so slowly, she began to roll the mask down, exposing firm, warm skin, a strong, smooth chin, and finally ... a well-shaped and oh so inviting mouth._

_In the dark, cold, rain-soaked alley, MJ took the face of a stranger gently in her hands, and touched his unmasked lips with her own._ _Immediately their mouths fused together, forming a perfect connection. MJ grew lightheaded at the desire and tenderness she could feel coming through his kiss. She found herself responding to it with a passion she never knew she was capable of feeling. _

_His lips clung to hers fervently, their eager pressure communicating both hunger and delight to her. __No one had ever kissed MJ like this before. __Her stomach fluttered exquisitely while her heart throbbed with an unnamed emotion. __ She kissed him back with everything she had, thrilling at the soft little noise of pleasure that escaped him as she explored his mouth.  
_

_Too soon, though, it ended. MJ brushed Spider-Man's upper lip with one last tiny, tantalizing kiss, then broke the delicious contact. For a heartbeat, she nuzzled his chin with the tip of her nose and, lips parted, they shared a heated breath. Both of them were panting as harshly as if they had been running. And despite the icy rainwater drenching her clothes, which were sticking unpleasantly to her skin, MJ's whole body felt flushed and rosy with heat. To distract herself, she began easing Spider-Man's mask back down over his chin, first brushing his chin with her lips one last time before retreating a step while she arranged the edge to lie flat around his neck. _

_She wanted to say something, to thank him again, but before she could speak, Spider-Man cast a new web line, gave it a tug and shot straight upward. MJ couldn't stop herself from laughing at the delightful absurdity of the situation as she watched him go. She was madly in love with a man whose face she'd never even seen_ ...

It hadn't mattered that they were strangers – if anything that had increased MJ's excitement as their lips had met unforgettably for those few intense moments. Anyway, he hadn't felt like a stranger. Their passionate exchange had awakened in Mary Jane sensations she had never before dreamed could exist, but the kiss had felt emotion-filled and, well, real, too. She'd been sure at the time that their attraction was mutual.

But perhaps the kiss didn't have the same meaning for him. For all she knew, Spider-Man accepted lots of thank-you kisses from adoring females. Sometimes she doubted it, remembering how ardently his lips had lingered over hers. Other times she thought it highly probable that their kiss, which had happened over a year and a half ago now, had not made the indelible impression on his mind that it had made on hers – if only because she suspected that he did not have much time to think about girls.

She had safeguarded the memory of his kiss as her own private secret, until one night, just after _Earnest_ had opened to glowing reviews, she'd gotten a little too tipsy. She and a new friend, her co-star Louise, had been really hitting it off, laughing and trading amusingly awful kissing experiences.

_"I hate those kisses, you know, where the guy kisses you and it's so bad you can't keep your mind on it. But you've got to finish it up so your mind wanders and you start wondering if you have enough detergent left to do two loads of laundry the next day?" said Louise. She laughed, shaking her mane of dark hair back from her face. "So I'm thinking about that, and usually the guy says, ‛Wow! You're very passionate.'"_

_MJ shuddered and then laughed herself. "What about the guy who thinks he's the Lizard?" she said mischievously. "You know, with the tongue already slithering out before he's kissed you, and then pushing in and out as though it's looking for something in your teeth."_

_Louise laughed so hard at that she almost lost her balance on her chair. She grabbed the table at the last minute, and then choked out her agreement between more bursts of laughter. "It's like kissing an anaconda."_

_Louise's laughter was infectious, and suddenly MJ was laughing uncontrollably too, "No, no," she gasped, "it's like a trip to the dentist. You know, you've got to open your mouth as wide as possible, you've got to remain motionless ... meanwhile, he roots around in your mouth, using his tongue like some kind of cleaning tool." _

_They both laughed again, painful, full-bodied laughs, until they were holding their sides and gasping for air. In the back of her mind, MJ was starting to wonder if she hadn't had just a bit too much to drink. She wasn't used to it: she usually avoided the stuff like the plague because of her father; she didn't want to be like him or to act like him. But she'd never had cocktails before and tonight they were so yummy, while the company was so pleasant. She was having a really good time. Louise was so funny, such a kindred spirit._

_"What about the guy who waggles his head like he's a dog, and you're a bone he's chewing?" Louise was saying, still giggling. "Or the guy who soaks you in about a gallon of drool?" _

_"Ewwwww!" said MJ, grimacing. "Don't remind me!" Then she went on roguishly, "How about the Masher? You know, the guy who mashes his face against yours so hard your teeth collide, your face gets twisted out of shape, and you wonder if you're going to pass out because you can't breathe. I had a boyfriend in high school who did that all the time, and I always felt like I had rug burn on my face from his stubble after he kissed me."_

_Louise laughed helplessly at that for a few moments, then hit the table so hard the glasses rattled and exclaimed, "I've got one! How about The Woodpecker? You know, the guy who pecks away at you like a bird eating birdseed, giving you an endless series of these dry, monotonous little kisses accompanied by loud smacky sounds ..." _

_MJ laughed at that description until her sides hurt again. Then, all of a sudden, she became sick of remembering all the botched, clumsy kisses she'd endured over the years. She sobered and said, "You know what's wrong with the bad kisser, regardless of his technique?"_

_"What?" asked Louise in an interested tone, leaning over the table and resting her chin on her hand._

_"The bad kisser isn't focused on the kiss at all. He's simultaneously thinking: ‛When can we get to step two? And three? And four?'"_

_Louise sat up, nodding emphatically. "Yeah, and you can almost hear him asking himself the whole time ‛Is she aroused yet? Can I put my hand on her breast now?' It's like kissing you is only the next step on his quest to get you into bed."_

_Playing with a paper umbrella, MJ looked down and then said softly, "Whereas the good kisser ... it's like the kiss is his only goal." Her voice turned dreamy. "He kisses you as if that's what he's been dying to do for years and he wants to savor every moment." _

_Louise leaned forward again, her animated face lighting up. "Girl, it sounds like you are speaking from experience here. Do tell. I need an antidote to all those bad visual images you conjured up."_

_MJ thought for a moment, remembering a clinging kiss of tenderness and desire, an ardent kiss that had lingered on her lips, evoking pleasure, passion and deep emotion all at once. "A guy once gave me a perfect kiss in the rain," she confided hesitantly. "He kissed me as if he never wanted to stop, and it was wonderful ... slow and intense ... hot and gentle ... all at the same time." She took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to her friend's. "I don't think I want to say anything more than that ... I've never told anyone about it before."_

_Louise gave her a fond look. "You, my girl, are a true romantic. You know, I think that's the main difference between a good kiss and bad kiss – the feelings. It sounds to me like you were really in love with him." _

Sometimes she wished later that she had not foolishly told Louise about her "perfect kiss in the rain." Ever since, she had been forced to endure her lively friend's sly little hints and good-natured teasing. Oh well, at least she'd somehow avoided mentioning the actual identity of her kisser. Luckily she hadn't been _that _drunk. And oddly enough, even that embarrassing mistake had not tainted the memory of one of the two best kisses of her life.

She realized now that her little experiment with John had been very unfair. It was wrong of her to use her fiancé to try to recapture the sensations of that first magical, upside-down kiss. She shouldn't have been surprised that this second upside-down kiss was not able to supplant the first – it hadn't been a just comparison. She loved John, she knew she did. So maybe she wasn't _in love_ with him, so what? Love had wounded her terribly once, and she knew John would never do that.

John stirred on the couch, and opened his eyes, blinking sleepily up at her.

"Hello," she said softly.

"Hello," John replied groggily, passing his hand over his eyes. "I fell asleep."

"You did," said MJ with a smile.

John sat up, stretching and yawning. "Did you finish your list?" he asked her, getting slowly to his feet.

"I did," said MJ cheerily, walking back to her neat pile on the floor and gathering it together. "It's all done, and you can take it back to your mother any time."

"I'd better do it right away," said John with a chuckle. "She's been breathing down my neck for it, and if I get it to her tonight, she can still work on it for a few hours before she goes to bed." He came over and stood next to her, his breath warm on her neck. MJ turned around and awkwardly handed him her pile.

As she did, he slid an arm around her waist, and bent towards her. "That was some kiss you gave me earlier," he murmured. "You wanna try it again?" In response she offered her lips, and he attacked them with fervor. Unhappily, she tried to reciprocate, but it was as if a veil had fallen from her eyes. John's kiss was pleasant, it felt as warm as a handshake or a backrub, but there was nary a trace of passion or desire in MJ's stubborn body. Despite what she wanted in her head, her body seemed to have fallen into a permanent sleep, and was hinting to her that only one man ... well, only two men, at most ... could stir it back into wakeful life.

"Whoa, babe, you are something else." John said, releasing her to smile widely down into her face. She returned his smile with a wide one of her own, but her heart felt as heavy as lead.

"Listen, honey, I'd better go" John said, retreating from her, and then striding to her door with a definite spring in his step. "I'll call you in the morning, early, and we can decide how to divvy up the various errands for tomorrow."

"Sure," said MJ, following him to the door. John bent again and kissed her ear, and then she closed the door quietly behind him, throwing the deadbolt and wandering back into the center of her living room.

What was wrong with her? she raged silently at herself. She had the perfect guy practically prostrate at her feet, and all she could think about was a guy who hadn't wanted her. Or had he? Suddenly MJ remembered Peter asking her to "think about it" after the play. Now that she remembered the conversation, she realized that Peter hadn't even had to tell her what he had meant by coming to view her performance; she'd somehow known what he was after without him having to explain. They'd always had a wordless understanding, even when they'd barely known each other. She thought about some other words he'd said that evening. What were they exactly? Oh yeah ... "I let things get in the way before" he'd said, holding her eyes intently with his pleading blue ones. "There was something I thought I had to do. I don't have to." _What does that mean?_ she suddenly thought with rising excitement. _Was Peter saying that we can finally be together_? All of a sudden, she had a burning desire to call Peter and continue that conversation that she had abruptly and foolishly cut short the week before.

She looked around at her clock. It read 10:15. That wasn't too bad, and she knew from talking to Aunt May that Peter kept very odd hours. He'd think nothing of her calling him this late. Heart pounding, she walked over to her table and picked up her phone, wondering as she dialled if Peter would actually, for once, be in when she called.

The phone rang in her ear, and was immediately answered. "Hello?" said Peter's familiar, slightly husky voice.

"Hey Pete," said MJ a little breathlessly. She wasn't sure whether she was relieved or nervous that he was actually there.

"MJ?" said Peter, sounding much more alert all at once. She heard a distant crash, as though Peter had dropped the phone. "What's up?"

"Nothing special," said MJ nonchalantly, suddenly feeling as though he were there in the room with her. "I'm just calling because, well, I wondered if you were free tomorrow. If you are, I'd like to meet up with you."

There was a pause. "Sure," said Peter slowly. "I've got classes all morning, but I'm free by 11:30."

"Great," said MJ brightly, twisting her hand around her phone cord, and watching as the beautifully liquid, square-cut diamond glinted in the light. "Let's meet for lunch at 12:15 at Ari's Village Deli in midtown. It's a nice place, not too expensive, and they have the best samosas. I buy them by the bagful sometimes and take them home ..." She knew she was beginning to babble but she couldn't seem to stop herself.

"Well, I'd better give them a try, then," said Peter, and she could hear a trace of a laugh in his voice. "MJ, can I ask what this is about?"

MJ hesitated for a moment, as all of her burning questions and newly rediscovered feelings seemed to rush to the tip of her tongue. She wanted to pick up their conversation from where they'd left off a week ago, she wanted to tell him that she couldn't stop thinking about him, she wanted ... well, the last thing she wanted was to scare him away. She swallowed her riotous feelings and tried to calm herself.

"I just need to see you," she said quietly.

"You need to see me?" Peter repeated in surprise. She thought she could detect a note of hope in his voice. Or maybe it was nervousness. She wished she could see his face.

"I'd like to see you," she corrected herself. She held her breath, hoping that she hadn't alarmed him too much. What if he got cold feet all of a sudden? Then they'd be right back where they'd started, trapped in their usual stalemate.

"Really? Well, I'd like to see you too, MJ." said Peter, his voice dropping down in pitch as he said her name. MJ smiled happily. Maybe they would finally be able to get out of their stalemate at last.

End of Part I


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: The movie, characters and dialogue of Spider-Man 2 all belong to Sony, Marvel, and a host of other people. I'm just playing with them a little._

_A/N: Thanks, all, for the kind reviews of the first part. I hadn't planned to continue telling this story from MJ's point of view, but a nice reviewer said that she would like to see more. I had an idea for another episode and another flashback, and so I wrote it. Telling the story from MJ's perspective appeals to me for some reason, although I'd prefer to do it in a non-linear way (hence the flashbacks). I tried this time to cut down on MJ's stream of consciousness thoughts and I also tried hard to make this chapter something more than simply a rehash of stuff from the movie (although it **is** fanfiction after all, so a bit of a rehash can't be avoided). I may go back and fix up the first part too; thanks for the constructive, if slightly distressing (lol, serves me right for asking for it), criticism_. _As before, reviews, praise, constructive criticism, are all most welcome. Enjoy! _

Memories and Revelations

Part II

MJ was sitting at a table in her favorite little Deli, waiting for Peter. A young oriental waitress had just brought her a cup of double spice chai black tea to drink, and MJ picked it up and took a nervous little sip. She was early, which was probably foolish; it was only 11:45, and she'd told Peter to meet her at 12:15. Given Peter's record of chronic lateness, she knew she could be waiting alone for 45 minutes or even an hour. But when she'd woken up in the morning, she had felt so restless that she couldn't bear to sit around her apartment. It was starting to feel as though she were waiting for the rest of her life to begin, and MJ was not the sort of girl who liked to wait around, hoping stuff would happen to her. No, she liked to go out and make things happen, which is why she supposed she'd called Peter last night. It was why she was sitting here now, too, instead of being out running errands for her wedding as she should be, or remaining in her apartment alone stewing.

Thinking over the events of the previous evening, MJ once again allowed herself a small, secret hope that things between her and Peter would be different this time. How many times, in the last year and a half or so since they'd become friends, had MJ tried to get close to Peter, only to find him pulling away for some unknown reason. What made it so strange was that Peter didn't seem to want to pull away. He always did so with an air of great reluctance, and with a pained look of longing in his eyes. She thought about the last time that they had talked, really talked, the night of Peter's birthday.

"_Hey," called out MJ, as she watched Peter take out his aunt's garbage and put it in the trash can. She realized that she hadn't hung around so late only to visit with her sick mother. No, she'd been secretly hoping to see Peter alone. What else was she waiting for, sitting on her back step after her parents had gone to bed?_

_"Hey," said Peter in a tone of surprise and delight. "You're still here." He put the lid back on the trash container and approached the fence between their back yards. MJ couldn't help thinking that he looked as cute as ever in his grey vest and black high-collared coat. She stood up, smoothing out her pretty, pleated skirt, and came towards the fence herself. _

"_I saw your billboard on Bleeker," Peter commented with his sweet smile, visibly happy for her. Suddenly this encounter was reminding MJ eerily of another one they'd had two years ago in the same place. That night, which seemed like only yesterday, Peter's wholehearted support of her dreams had heartened her immeasurably. _ _Now it felt strange, and a little wrong, that the person who'd first encouraged her, who'd first believed in her success, was only able to view it from a distance._

_"Isn't it weird?" she said with a wry, self-deprecating grimace. "I'm kind of embarrassed."_

_"Don't be," Peter replied in a husky voice, still smiling. "It's nice. I get to see you every day now." His gaze was deep and warm._

_Well, wasn't that interesting, thought MJ. All at once she found herself as excited as a schoolgirl at this glimpse inside Peter. He was always forgetting their infrequent dates -- she hardly saw him any more -- she'd almost begun to fear that he didn't care about her at all. Now she welcomed with relief the reassurance that he thought about her sometimes. She was even a bit surprised at how happy it made her. Peter could still say the sweetest things, things that made her feel like she was the most important person in the world. _

_A silence fell, pregnant with unspoken possibilities, as were most of the moments they had shared over the years. MJ felt an ever-increasing longing to close the distance between them and touch him. "I liked seeing you tonight, Peter," she affirmed softly, drawing near enough to him that even in the darkness she could see the vivid blue of his eyes._

_"Oh, boy, yeah," Peter said earnestly, almost as if he couldn't help himself. His eyes were full of heartfelt emotion, and MJ's chest squeezed tight as she gazed at him in the moonlight. Something sprang to life between them: a suppressed yearning that was as powerful as a magnetic pull. The very air itself seemed heavy with it._

_MJ wished desperately that Peter would put into words what they both seemed to be feeling. Or maybe she was just kidding herself – maybe the longing was all on her side. She hoped not. She tried prompting him, "Oh, boy, yeah ... what?" Unconsciously, she took a step nearer to the fence and leaned on it, her eyes fixed seriously upon him. _

_"Uh ... nothing." But his eyes told a different story. They rested on her face, as though they liked nothing better than looking at her._

_"Do you want to say something to me?" MJ whispered hopefully, still mesmerised by his eyes._

_Peter hesitated. He looked at her with an emotion which so closely resembled love that she found herself trembling with anticipation. "MJ... I..." She hardly dared to breathe. _

_"I... was wondering if... if you're still in the Village."_

_That wasn't at all what MJ had wanted to hear. Maybe she had just been kidding herself, like always. Her face dropped in disappointment. "You're such a mystery," she sighed. Peter said nothing, but just looked at her with a sad expression that, oddly enough, exactly mirrored the sadness in her own heart. _

_Prompted by an impulse that she couldn't identify, MJ reached out to him, caressing his face slowly and finally cupping his cheek in her hand. It was warm and smooth, and she never wanted to stop touching it. "Peter," she whispered._

_He gasped involuntarily at her touch and closed his eyes. When they opened, they were again riveted to her face. "What?" he whispered back._

_The air between them was charged, and MJ thought for a minute about telling Peter ... what? There was so much that she wanted to say, but she couldn't find the words ... and anyway, maybe he wouldn't want to hear them. But she was full to the brim with tumultuous emotion; she thought she might burst if she didn't say something ..._

_"Happy Birthday"_ _said MJ at last, wanting to say so much more, but finding these pale words the easiest to get out. _

The most frustrating part of spending time with Peter was that he was so confusing, MJ thought, sipping her tea again. He always gave MJ mixed messages. One moment, he would gaze intensely at her as though she were the only woman on earth, and the next moment his face would take on a pained and distant expression, while he avoided her eyes and backed away. It was almost as if there were two Peter Parkers.

Her favorite Peter Parker was still the same awkward, earnest boy who had followed her with adoring eyes all throughout her school life, who had been mostly tongue-tied in her presence, but who would occasionally, unexpectedly, come out with a perceptive comment that pierced her to the soul. This was the Peter that she had stupidly ignored for years, until she had grown up enough to appreciate him. Then, she had fallen in love with him for his kindness and goodness, for his quiet strength and insight. The other Peter Parker was a more recent creation, a flighty absent-minded guy who never seemed to be fully present, who didn't seem to know what he wanted, and who always seemed to be tied up in knots with some unspoken, secret sorrow. This Peter irked the hell out of her, but after her revelation of the previous evening she now had to admit that she loved him too – even though she also wanted to take hold of him with both hands and shake him until he let go of his secrets.

MJ wished that a more ordinary man – say, like John, for instance – could evoke the same powerful feelings inside her that Peter did without even trying. But, no, as her little experiment of last night showed, she obviously preferred the screwed up neurosis, the combination of angst and sweetness, that was Peter Parker. Maybe it was because she was screwed up too. If that were so, it would hardly be surprising given how messed up her home life had been, with an alcoholic father dominating the house, and the constant, strident fighting between her parents.

Or maybe there was just something about the way Peter looked at her, as if he really, truly saw her, Mary Jane Watson, all the way down to her core. She thought she could see down to his core too, see the sweet, sensitive boy that he had once been, and still was, sometimes. Whereas with John – she didn't know what kind of boy John had been, and she wondered now if she should be more interested in knowing.

"Hiya."

MJ looked up when she heard a cheerful, familiar voice.

Carrying his coat in front of him, Peter was coming up behind her, heading straight through the maze of tables and chairs. She glanced back at the clock on the wall. Incredibly, he was early: it was only five to twelve. Things were getting off to a very promising start, she thought, watching him hang the coat on the back of the wooden chair facing her, and sit down gracefully. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him. As Peter gave her one of his warm smiles, she thought he looked incredibly cute in his taped glasses and threadbare navy wool sweater, which she suspected from the old-fashioned design of the collar was one of Aunt May's creations.

"Surprised?" MJ asked eagerly, unable to keep a nervous little tremor out of her voice.

"Very," he admitted, clasping his hands on the table in front of him.

"Thanks for coming," she said, smiling skittishly.

Peter seemed to pick up on her nervousness, because he helped her by getting right to the point. "You said you needed to see me," he remarked gently. "Everything O.K.?"

She struggled against all the feelings of hope, fear and excitement that were coursing through her: "You might say so," she said with a giddy, agitated little giggle. Oh, boy. Why did this date feel worse than the most difficult audition she'd ever had? She tried to call on her acting abilities to appear calm, but she couldn't quite rid herself of the little tremor in her voice. "This is funny ... I'm not really sure where to begin," she confessed shyly, then took a deep breath. No use beating around the bush – she plunged right into what she had to say. "You know how our minds play tricks on us sometimes?"

"Tell me about it," he replied with a wry little chuckle.

MJ was encouraged. "Well ... mine did a real number on me." She gave another giddy little laugh, meeting his intent blue eyes. They were steady and reassuring. She felt heartened by the fact that he was there, and by the way that he was listening to her, smiling fondly at her slight giddiness and looking right at her with his clear, direct gaze.

"Some part of me heard what you had to say after the show that night," MJ went on bravely, "... that you were different ...but ..." She thought over the history of the last 18 months or so, which had been drawn out and torturous. She knew she was risking her heart again, and she could only hope that it would survive. MJ continued earnestly, "I didn't want to listen. I was afraid to trust you ..."

Suddenly Peter was looking down, refusing to meet her eyes.

Breathlessly, MJ forged ahead, "But I've been thinking about it ..." She was starting to smile with joy at the thought that they were finally going to be open with each other ...

At that moment, Peter interrupted her. "Listen, there's more for me to say." He raised his eyes to her face almost apologetically, stating quietly and hesitantly, "I ... maybe rushed into things. I thought ..."

_Oh no_. MJ couldn't believe it. Her stomach seemed to fall into her shoes. "Wait a minute. What are you saying?"

Peter looked unhappy but resolute, "I'm saying I ... uh ..." He seemed to be having difficulty getting the words out at first, but then, all in a rush, he said, "I thought I could be there for you, Mary Jane. But I can't." He shook his head with a defeated air, his eyes sad. "My mind was playing tricks on me too."

More than anything, MJ was sick of the uncertainty, of the way that the two of them always seemed to be dancing in circles around each other. In spite of her freshly aching heart, she decided to pin Peter down once and for all. "Do you love me?" she demanded, "Or not?"

There it was again, that intense, tender look in Peter's eyes, pulling her in, causing her to hope against hope. "I..." As he spoke, she caught her breath, drowning in his eyes, and trembling as she waited for him to complete his sentence.

"... don't," finished Peter reluctantly. But although he was saying one thing, his eyes were still saying another. Perhaps he realized that they were betraying him, because he looked down at the table again.

"You don't." said MJ flatly, disgusted with both herself and him. Why did they always wind up deadlocked in the same stalemate? Tears rose in her throat, but she swallowed her pain and set her jaw, keeping her eyes on him. A year and a half ago, in the cemetery, she'd been too crushed, too choked with tears to question Peter about his rejection of her. That had been a mistake, she now realized. She had sensed somehow that he wasn't telling her everything, that there was some mystery behind his words, but she'd been too upset to challenge him then.

This time, she was determined to find the answer to her questions. In one respect, her little kissing experiment of last night had been successful. No, she hadn't awakened in herself the feelings of passion for John that she'd initially hoped she would. Instead, unwittingly she had uncovered deep feelings for Peter that she had buried. Now maybe, just maybe, if she kissed Peter again, she could figure out what he was hiding or force him into a self-disclosure. She readied her counterattack.

"Kiss me," whispered MJ insistently. Nothing like an ambush for getting results.

"K-Kiss you?" said Peter in a tone of trepidation. She noticed that he was looking at her mouth with fascinated, almost fearful eyes.

She pressed her advantage. "I need to know something," she went on, in a low, intense voice. Their eyes met, and she could feel the electricity of their connection sparking between them once more.

"Just one kiss," MJ repeated softly, lightly resting her hand over his. Then, for an instant, she caught sight of John's ring, and saw Peter glance down at it too. It winked at her like an eye, but she pushed the unwelcome reminder out of her mind with action, leaning far forward in her seat and invading Peter's space. Her eyes drifted shut as she readied her senses for the delicious, overwhelming assault that always accompanied Peter's kisses ... or rather, his one kiss; what was she thinking? ... pursing lips that were already starting to tingle in anticipation.

But instead of the long-anticipated burst of sensation, the Village Deli suddenly exploded around her in a tempest of tinkling, jarring, terrifying noise.

Through the grinding, jangling crash of metal into glass, MJ was astounded to feel something powerful grip her tightly around the shoulders and waist, lifting her right over the back of her chair. Then she was sailing through the air, wrapped securely in someone's arms, her face buried in someone's – _Peter's_, she realized belatedly in wonder – chest, her body pressed firmly against Peter's surprisingly lean, hard one. Somehow he turned them in the air so that he hit the ground first, cushioning her fall with his vigorous frame. Although she landed with a severe jolt, all she felt beneath her clutching hands and trembling body was the firm muscles of his chest, covered by the soft wool of his sweater. Then, just before something incredibly massive, dark and heavy passed directly over them, Peter shoved her smoothly off him. He pushed her swiftly to one side, simultaneously stopping her motion and holding her body down with a strong arm underneath her while pressing his own body flat into the floor. A stinging shower of glass swept over them, and she heard another deafening crash, accompanied by the discordant sounds of buckling, tearing metal and splintering wood.

A very long second later, the cacophony of noise ended. Before MJ knew where she was, Peter had pulled her lightly to her feet, with one hand resting gently on her right arm and another hand on her left elbow. He released her abruptly, and they both looked behind them at the ruined bakery counter. MJ was amazed to see a car, a black Saturn, rocking slightly as it rested on its roof. It had obviously been the massive object that had smashed through the window and taken out all the furniture in its path, ending by crushing the counter. She couldn't for the life of her imagine how a car had managed to crash into the Village Deli sideways, and land upside down on its roof. Realizing that the car had nearly flattened the two of them along with their table, she shook inwardly. It was a miracle that she and Peter had survived the crash.

Peter swiveled suddenly toward the shattered front of the Deli, searching the street with his eyes. Immediately after he did so, a distant, heavy thud shook loose some plaster and dry wall fragments, which showered down around them. _An earthquake_? wondered MJ, turning to face the street herself, completely puzzled and disoriented.

A second later, there was another rhythmic thud. This one was accompanied by more dry wall fragments raining down on them, and the distant sound of shrieks and shouts out in the streets.

A third massive thud echoed ominously in the background, sounding nearer and shaking loose yet more plaster. As it resounded, this time MJ could see a small crowd of screaming people come pouring into the intersection, some of them tripping and stumbling in their haste, and most scattering in different directions as soon as they turned the corner.

Bewildered, shaken, and beginning to be more than a little frightened, MJ only then noticed that Peter was standing straight and tall beside her, tense with readiness. He seemed somehow to understand the meaning of those strange loud sounds – or at least he appeared calm, quiet, and expectant as he heard them, with none of the flustered confusion that she was experiencing evident anywhere in his demeanor. "What's happening?" MJ gasped, now very frightened indeed.

Peter didn't respond to her at all, but instead looked down the street with an extremely focused, penetrating gaze, apparently seeing something that she couldn't off in the distance. A few more thuds reverberated thunderously, and suddenly MJ realized with horror what Peter was seeing. She could just make out a fast-approaching and fantastic-looking apparition. It looked, dear God, it looked just like an enormous and unwieldy spider balancing on long, spindly metallic legs. It moved up the street rapidly and mechanically, like something from a science fiction movie.

MJ stood paralyzed beside Peter as the creature, or person, or whatever it was strode purposefully towards them, each jarring step shaking the ground more and more noticeably the closer it came. A second later, a middle-aged man wearing a leather trenchcoat and sunglasses used the long, three-toed metal arms, which were coiling about him like snakes, to step over the wreckage of the front wall of the Deli, and stand in front of them.

"Peter Parker!" exclaimed the man with a chilling smile, in a weird parody of the sort of greeting you'd give an old friend.

_How does this freak know Peter_? wondered MJ, before she had a sudden illumination, perceiving that this wacko must be the one whom the _Bugle _had dubbed Doc Ock, the former Doctor Otto Octavius. Hadn't Harry and Peter been talking about him at the birthday party? She had to admit she hadn't paid much attention to them at the time, nor had she followed the steady stream of stories that were printed in the _Daily Bugle _about this "Doctor Octopus" after his accident. Not that it would have mattered if she had, since no one had been able to get a clear picture of Doctor Octavius now that he had four extra limbs.

"And the _girlfriend_!" Doc Ock added in delight, a sadistic smile stretching across his face.

In reply, Peter's voice, sounding hard with strength and anger, demanded, "What do you want?"

As he said this, MJ registered the surprising fact that, although she hadn't even noticed him move, Peter was now somehow standing protectively in front of her. MJ couldn't see his face any longer, but the unyielding, resolute stance of Peter's body spoke volumes, and she knew he must be levelling an equally hard look at that car-throwing maniac. _This was the kid who used to be picked on every day of his life, all the way through school?_ thought MJ distractedly. She was impressed by Peter's apparent fearlessness in confronting this creature, because she herself was feeling utterly terrified.

Meanwhile, Doc Ock raised a thick black eyebrow at Peter's tone of voice. Then one of his coiling tentacles shot across the room, grabbed Peter brutally by the neck, and yanked him several feet forward. MJ cried out in shock at the violence and incredible rapidity of its strike.

"I want you to find your friend Spider-Man," Ock ordered, pulling Peter even closer to his face. "Tell him to meet me at the West Side clock tower at three o'clock."

"I don't know where he is," Peter protested in a choked voice. Despite everything, though, he seemed anything but helpless to MJ. Although his feet were dangling off the ground, she noticed that his body still appeared tense with anger and pent-up energy.

Doc Ock used one of his tentacles to pull his sunglasses delicately off his face. MJ could see him fix Peter with a cold glare. "_Find _him...," Ock said emphatically, indicating MJ with his eyes. That instant, MJ realized with horror that two of those coiling arms had surrounded her, and were extending their curving claws over her. There was nowhere she could go.

"...or I'll peel the flesh off her bones," Ock finished, snapping the pincers of the remaining tentacle behind Peter twice to punctuate his point.

"If you lay one finger on her..." Peter said angrily, a dark promise lurking in his strong young voice.

"You'll do what?" Ock jeered, obviously unimpressed. With that, he casually tossed Peter into the back wall of the shattered café with so much force that part of the roof began crumbling down onto him. MJ cried out the sight of Peter's spread-eagled body, head thrown back, arms and legs splayed out helplessly, slamming into the brickwork behind him. The impact shook the already-weakened structure, so that more and more debris from the floor above toppled down onto Peter, burying him alive in several inches of rubble. Biting back a scream, MJ took a frantic step towards him, hoping to God that Peter was alright ... that he had somehow survived that avalanche without injury.

But before she could take even one more step in his direction she froze at the sight of a menacing, sinister smile on Doc Ock's face. At the same moment she felt a thick rubberized cable wind tightly around her waist, lifting her off the floor. Then she screamed in earnest.

End of Part II

_A/N: By the way, does anyone happen to know what MJ's mother died of in the comics? I can't remember. If no one remembers, that's okay -- since I'm playing in the movieverse, I may just invent my own serious illness for her_.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: This story contains dialogue, characters, scenes and events that belong to others (Marvel, Sony, Sam Raimi, etc.), and not to me. I'd also like to mention that the wonderfully nuanced performances of the actors in Spider-Man 2 have given me most of the inspiration for the character motivations and emotions here. _

_A/N: Thanks again for the many kind reviews of this story. Not too much happens in this chapter – no more kissing experiments, for instance – but I hope you like it anyway. Think of it as an important bridge to some key emotional scenes._

_By the way, to those reviewers who gave me helpful constructive criticism about Part 1, I wanted you to know that I took your comments about the heaviness of the exposition to heart. I went back and added two more small flashbacks in the first chapter. If you get the chance to tell me what you think of them, I'd really appreciate it. I'd also appreciate reviews, comments, constructive criticism of this latest chapter, or all three of them together. It's fun to know what you think! Thanks for reading!  
_

Memories and Revelations

Part III

The next few minutes passed in a blur. After picking her up, MJ's captor fully extended his metal appendages and strode out of the wrecked Deli balancing on them. For MJ, the ride was terrifying and extremely uncomfortable. One of Ock's metal claws held her sideways as though she were a doll, and the rubbery hose – or whatever it was – which had coiled around her waist was bruising her with its tightness. As her kidnapper began stepping high over traffic and screaming, running, falling people, she found herself, her hair streaming in her eyes and her stomach churning, suspended over a scene of complete pandemonium. Cars were stopped haphazardly in the street, while a horde of terrified fleeing people dispersed hastily onto the roadway in all directions trying to avoid them. In one surreal moment, MJ looked down in the midst of her blind terror into the face of another screaming woman, a blonde who'd fallen backwards over the hood of a car. The woman's face, a mask of mindless fright, might have been a mirror image of Mary Jane's own face. Then the metallic arms swept her up and away, and before she knew it, her captor was carrying her right up the side of a building and over the top. Every step was a terrible jolt and lurch, with the tentacle carrying her compounding the problem by waving and shaking her from side to side in a jarring, nauseating manner. For the first little while, MJ was not only terrified by the continual threat of falling, but she also thought that she was going to throw up any minute.

After many minutes of the pitching, rolling and swaying movement that served him for locomotion, Ock finally used his tentacle to bring MJ up close to his face. As he did, she realized belatedly that she was still screaming. "You can see that I'm not going to drop you," he said mockingly, "So you can stop the screaming now, little girl. Unless of course you prefer it – in which case, be my guest."

MJ's stomach was roiling, and it was this sickening feeling more than anything, that caused her finally to close her mouth. She'd suffered enough indignity being carried about like a rag doll, thank you very much – she didn't need to add the humiliation of being sick all over herself to that. Besides, it was starting to look like he was right; she wasn't going to die any time soon. If that was the case, she was determined to put up a bit of a braver front. After all, Peter Parker hadn't cowered when he watched this freak stomp down the street and enter the Deli. She again thought about Peter's appearance when that metal claw grabbed him by the throat. Strange as it was, even with his feet hanging off the ground, Peter, quiet, unassuming Peter Parker, had sounded almost dangerous as he warned Ock not to harm her. She knew this impression was ridiculous, especially given how easily Ock had tossed him away a second later. Still, the memory was oddly heartening. If Peter could show that much bravado in the face of this crackpot, so could she.

"You're not going to get away with this, you know," MJ retorted in a raspy voice. She realized that her throat was raw from all the screaming.

"Oh?" said Doc Ock indifferently, striding jerkily across the roof of a new building. "Who's going to stop me?"

"Spider-Man will come for me," insisted MJ boldly, striving to infuse her voice with the strong tone she'd heard in Peter's. Actually she was by no means as certain as she tried to sound that Spider-Man _would_ come. Like the rest of the city, MJ knew that Spider-man had dumped his suit and disappeared without a trace well over a month ago. In fact, she vividly remembered her devastation on the day that his suit had been found. And now even Peter, whom she'd often thought must have some way of contacting him, hadn't seemed to know where Spider-Man was, back in the café.

"Good." Ock chuckled darkly and then added sarcastically, "Know him well, do you?"

"Well enough to know that he'll come for me," said MJ, starting to get mad. It was angering her that just like the Green Goblin on the Queensboro Bridge, this wacko was also, for some inexplicable reason, using her to get at Spider-Man. Why was she being forced unwillingly into role of damsel-in-distress _again_? Hadn't she outgrown this role? It was getting more than a little redundant. _Been there, done that_, thought MJ in frustration, this time swallowing humiliation and nausea together.

At length, they arrived somewhere, stopping at a huge ruin of a warehouse on a pier. It had a ramshackle appearance, and its front end appeared to be collapsing sideways into the water. _Figures the insane super-villain would have to have a scummy, repulsive hideout_, thought MJ in disgust, _how cliché can you get? _Ock clambered up the side of the hulking structure, and then crawled in through a hole in the roof, dragging her after him so roughly that her skirt caught on a loose nail, which tore a new slit into it that went all the way up to her thigh. _Great_, thought MJ. _Just great_.

Setting MJ down but still keeping her immobilized with the cable from his tentacle coiled around her waist, Doc Ock then proceeded to tie her up, tethering her hands together tightly with a thick piece of rope around her wrists. As he did so, he mocked her again, "Scream all you like here – no one will hear you."

With as much dignity as she could muster, MJ said coolly, "No thanks. I've already played the helpless screaming maiden role."

"That you have," agreed her captor with another of his dry little laughs, causing MJ to flush with anger and shame. Then he used his metal monstrosities to lift her hands over her head, looping the connecting rope over and around a rusty pipe. After he was finished, he began to coil heavy chains down around her body, binding her feet together to the base of the pipe so that she couldn't even move. A moment later, she noticed that the heavy iron chain which he had just looped around her neck was tearing the shoulder out of her fawn-colored printed silk dress. First the skirt, and now this. Dammit, she _liked_ this dress. She'd just bought it and only worn it for the first time to impress Peter. This morning she had picked it out of her closet, thinking about how she could always be herself around him. She had hoped the dress would bring out her natural beauty – not that it had done her much good in the end, of course. But even so, it was still making her madder than ever to think that if she survived this ordeal, she'd never be able to wear the dress again.

"Hey," barked MJ in irritation. "You are _ruining _my dress. Are these chains really necessary?"

Ock grinned at that. "Probably not. Especially since you can't get out of here, and no one knows where you are. But you have to admit that they go with the décor."

MJ was getting more and more annoyed with her kidnapper's attitude. He seemed rather like an arrested adolescent, at least in his goofball sense of humor. She threw caution to the winds. "You also ruined my favorite café" snapped MJ, "And what did you think you'd accomplish by throwing cars around, and slamming Peter into a brick wall? Not too bright. Peter can't find Spider-Man for you if he's injured or dead." As she said this, MJ closed her eyes against the picture of Peter being buried in falling debris. Somehow she suspected she would never forget that sight. Then she pushed the memory resolutely away. She refused to contemplate for a second the possibility that Peter might be unconscious, suffocating under that ruined wall ... or worse.

Ock stared at her incredulously for a moment. Then he threw his head back and began to laugh. "I like your nerve. You remind me..." He stopped abruptly. "Doesn't mean I'm going to let you go, though." With that, he turned away, crawling back up the side of the building and vanishing back through the hole in the roof.

He was gone for what seemed like hours.

MJ tried in vain to keep track of the time. She and Peter had planned to meet for lunch originally, but she had no idea how long her sickening journey with Ock had lasted. After his mysterious departure, the afternoon quietly waned. As the hours crawled slowly by, MJ grew more and more uncomfortable in her bound state. Her nausea faded, and once it did, her stomach reminded her persistently that she'd missed lunch. The feeling of her arms cramping painfully in their pinioned position over her head, and the skin of her entire body contracting into goose-bumps in the cold and damp air, did not improve her temper. Moment by moment, MJ grew even more furious at the madman who had tied her up to a nasty metal pipe, and then apparently forgotten all about her. Something else was bothering her too, something she didn't want to allow herself to feel.

Fear was beginning to grow again, the fear that she would be abandoned and lost in this deserted place.

She struggled to muster confidence in Peter, that he would succeed in finding Spider-Man. But how could he? Who knew where Spider-Man was at any given moment? After all, he tended to just show up when he was needed. Back in the early days of their friendship, just after Harry's father's death, she had once or twice asked Peter how he managed to get so many pictures of the masked superhero. "_Are you in regular contact with Spider-Man?_" she'd wondered aloud, "_Or do you have some deal worked out where Spider-Man gives you advance notice of his location in exchange for good publicity?_" Peter had laughed outright at the last idea. Then he had given her such a vague, roundabout answer that she'd been left with the impression that he had no idea where Spider-Man was at any given time. Like her, Peter was probably lucky to catch sight of him at all.

Since the terrifying and eye-opening night when Spider-Man had saved her from plummeting to her death off the Queensboro bridge, she had barely seen her masked hero. Apart from Peter's vivid front-page pictures and the occasional news clip of some amazing, breath-taking feat, she had only glimpsed Spider-Man once or twice high overhead, swinging swiftly by with purpose and determination, and fading far into the distance almost as soon as she'd noticed him. Each time she had blinked into the sun after him, thinking that she'd imagined him through the force of her longing to see him one more time. A few other times, she thought she heard a faint "Whoo-hoo" or the whoosh of webbing behind her in the distance, only to turn and find nothing but empty sky.

On the two occasions when she was certain she'd actually seen Spider-Man, she experienced a faint feeling of disappointment and heartache as he sailed obliviously over her. Yes, it still gave her a rare thrill to glimpse him, but after that terrifying experience on the bridge, the sight of Spider-Man was also affecting her strangely. He affected her almost in the same way that Peter did when he failed to show up for one of their infrequent dates, or when he would rush off inexplicably. Her heart ached at the impression that Spider-Man was far too busy to take notice of her, tiny and insignificant on the ground far below him.

Even if Peter did find Spider-man, she asked herself, would he come? She wondered idly how well Spider-Man remembered her. There was that phenomenal kiss, of course, but despite it she was afraid that he didn't think much about their three encounters. Spider-Man had saved literally thousands of people by now. If he knew she were in danger, he would care, of course, in an impersonal sort of way. After all, he continually helped anonymous strangers. But would he have a strong enough motivation to find her? Would he have _any_ motivation to find her?

Suddenly, a faint, mocking voice stirred in her memory. "_Let die the woman you love..._" it cackled.

_"Let die the woman you love..."_ _MJ simply couldn't believe her ears._ _In the midst of her sheer terror, her throat already raw with screaming and her stomach churning at the heart-stopping feeling of dangling over an abyss, she thought incredulously, what is he talking about? She knew the Green Goblin was homicidal and dangerous, but apparently the freak was delusional as well. _

_"...or suffer the little children!"_ _continued the Green Goblin, as he let the cable of the gondola car slide through his fingers just a little, lightly and tauntingly rocking it back and forth while children screamed._

_As the full import of the Goblin's words sank in, MJ was unable to keep from shrieking again herself. The icy wind whipped her thin cotton bathrobe around her, and her slippers dropped from her uselessly kicking feet, falling for many minutes into the river far below her. Helpless, she clutched at the iron hand gripping her throat, striving futilely to gain some kind of purchase. "Make your choice, Spider-Man!" the Goblin was demanding gleefully. "And see how a hero is rewarded!"_

_"Don't do it, Goblin!" she heard Spider-Man cry out in a voice of terrible anguish. His desperation pierced through the fog of her terror, and, somehow, she believed. She didn't know how it could be possible, but she felt in that moment that mysteriously, inexplicably, Spider-man _did_ love her ... that he couldn't bear the thought of her death ..._

MJ blinked, frowning at a memory that she had put out of her mind since it had happened. After Peter had rejected her on the day of Norman Osborn's funeral, she'd been so shattered that she completely forgot that weird little moment in the middle of all the heartache. Not to mention that, just afterwards, she had nearly plummeted to her death -- the memory of that alone was certainly enough to drive any weird little incidents from her mind. As a matter of fact, the whole bridge experience had been a very traumatic one, which had made her unwilling to dwell on it. Now, standing hogtied and shackled to a pipe, MJ, for only the second time, puzzled over that long-ago taunt of the Goblin's. She felt as if she ought to understand its meaning. Oh well, whatever mystery it still hid, the memory of it reassured her slightly. Maybe, impossibly, Spider-Man _would_ find her.

Eventually the sun began to sink in the sky, the golden late afternoon light fading to grey and then to black, and she was left alone in the dark, with only the tiny dim lights of various consoles and monitors for company. Her stomach clenching at the drawn-out suspense, MJ felt like a beginner actress waiting for her cue to go onstage in the first performance of her life. Time seemed to drag and stretch out interminably.

A severe thunderstorm blew up out of nowhere, and before long the rain was dripping in through the holes in the roof, a steady stream of ice-cold water trickling down the rusty pipe she was attached to, gradually soaking her hair and dress. MJ shivered in the cold and the dark, and began to feel hopelessly that she would never leave the pier warehouse alive.

Then, out of nowhere, Doc Ock reappeared, cradling something round and gleaming in one of his metal claws as if it were fragile glass. Stretching out another of his freaky metal arms, he turned on all the overhead lights, throwing a hard white glare over some parts of the cavernous room, and casting others into deep shadow. MJ was full of burning questions – where was Spider-Man? Had he come to the clock tower at three? If he hadn't shown up, was that why she was still being kept here? Where had Doc Ock gone, and what had he returned with?

But her captor did not speak to her or even look in her direction. Instead he went over to a huge apparatus of curving greenish metal arms which oddly resembled his own tentacles. It was surrounded by computers, consoles and monitors, and directly below it a wide portion of the East River was visible through the broken floor of the pier. Just now noticing this huge contraption, she felt bewildered and out of her depth as she tried to puzzle out what it was for and what its creator was doing with it. At the moment, she could only see that Doc Ock had his back to her and was busy with various metal toys on the other side of the cluttered warehouse. Then she saw him raise the spherical object towards the light with one of his tentacles. Still holding it carefully, he began rapidly punching buttons on a console in front of him.

MJ tried to calm her racing thoughts so that she could make out what Ock was doing over there, but she couldn't interpret his actions. She supposed Peter would know and wished distractedly that he could be there to explain to her exactly what that infernal-looking machine was for. She sighed and twisted her hands helplessly in the heavy ropes binding them around the wrists. They were digging into her skin, and the ache in her tired arms was becoming excruciating. She couldn't even shift her weight on her feet, because they were shackled together with the heavy iron chains.

All at once, MJ decided she'd had enough of hanging around like some pathetic trussed chicken.

"Hey!" she called out sharply. When her captor ignored her, she shouted "Hey!" even louder. Then she emitted a shrill taxi whistle to get Doc Ock's attention. When he still didn't respond, she cried angrily, "I'm talkin' to you!"

Ock finally turned, removing his dark glass welder's goggles. He stared at her as if only just remembering that she was there.

"You got what you needed for your little science project," MJ continued defiantly, her slow burning anger at being held hostage – no, at the preposterous events of the whole day – stiffening her spine and making her voice sound as strong in her ears as Peter's had back in the café, "Now let me go!"

"I can't let you go," Ock explained matter-of-factly, fixing her with his compelling – and unnerving – gaze, eyes cold beneath thick black eyebrows which were drawing together in a line on his brow. "You'll bring the police." Then he smirked at her, and added in a self-satisfied tone, "Not that anyone can stop me now that Spider-Man is dead."

MJ paused, feeling her breath hitch in her chest and her heart stop for a second. No. That wasn't possible. She knew that Spider-Man had been gone for over a month, and she'd even seen the picture of his costume on display in the office of John's loud-mouthed dad at _The Daily Bugle_. Yet even when the papers and the news outlets had all declared, day after day, that Spider-Man was no more, she had still refused to accept it. In fact, she had balked at believing it from the first time the extraordinary claim appeared in the news.

_"Just a minute, John_,_" said MJ. John was driving her home to her apartment late after the evening's performance of her play. She had been looking out the car window at the dark street surfaces, still slick with water and glistening under the street lights after the recent rain shower. Then her eyes fastened on something extraordinary on the curbside as they waited at a light. "Stop the car, I want to buy a newspaper," she urged._

_"What? Why?" said John, who was nevertheless obligingly slowing down his car and pulling over to the side of the road directly opposite the intersection they'd just crossed. When he saw her looking over at a row of boxes of the** Daily Bugle**, he added good-naturedly, "I don't think I've ever seen you buy a copy of my Dad's paper. Didn't you once call it a ‛rag of a tabloid' ?" _

_MJ didn't answer, because she had already jumped out of the car and darted across the street to the first in the row of boxes_. _She fumbled for some coins, then yanked the glass door of the box open, grabbing the last copy of the paper with the unbelievable headline. **"SPIDER-MAN NO MORE**," it proclaimed loudly in bold black letters. Had he been killed? she wondered apprehensively. Then MJ saw a little box beside the headline and its accompanying photograph (not one of Peter's, she noted, looking at the byline), reading "Trademark Threads Dumped by Webslinger, Full Story Page 3." What could it mean? Her heart in her mouth, MJ climbed back into her fiancé's car, studying the strange picture of the flattened red and blue suit and gloves, which were flanked forlornly by a sightless, empty mask. _

_"I thought you didn't like the _Bugle_ because of the editor's attitude to Spider-Man," John remarked conversationally, pulling away from the curb again as soon as she'd shut the car door. MJ ignored him, flipping the paper open and avidly beginning to read the story inside. _

Daily Bugle _Staff Editorial_.

_New York City woke today to the long-awaited good news that the reckless vigilante known as Spider-Man has retired from his notorious one-man crusade for personal fame and glory. No longer will he endanger the ordinary citizens of this city with his dangerous highwire antics and egocentric interference in delicate matters best left to the police and other trained professionals. As of this morning, _The Daily Bugle_ is in possession of incontrovertible evidence, in the form of his distinctive red and blue body suit, red gloves and red face mask (pictured left), that the renegade wall crawler_ _has scrapped his reprehensible quest_ _for media attention. The costume itself was authenticated by _The Bugle_'s very own Editor-in-Chief, J. Jonah Jameson. Having personally braved a firebombing attack by the webslinger and his alleged accomplice, the Green Goblin, in November 2002, our editor got a close look at the trademark suit while on its wearer at that time. He was therefore able confidently to make an immediate identification of the abandoned suit on the spot. Bruno Orson, 54, worker with the NYC Department of Sanitation, attests that he spotted the suit hanging out of a trash container while on his early morning collection rounds this week. "You couldn't miss it," said Mr. Orson. "It was creepy the way those eye lenses seemed to be watching you from a distance." It is the conclusion of _The Daily Bugle_ that the public opinion of the good citizens of New York, marshalled by this paper, has driven the attention-seeking, high-flying webslinger to abandon his pitiful masquerade – a happy testament to the power of the Press. _

_Response to this encouraging news has been one of widespread relief on the part of the citizens of New York City, who will no longer have to fear vigilantism from above and the resulting escalation of violence in the streets. It is worth remembering that during the two years in which he was active in this city, Spider-Man has been linked to innumerable crimes and disasters. Furthermore, his involvement in several high profile murders and attacks is still under investigation. He was allegedly involved in the mysterious grisly murder of business magnate and scientist Norman Osborn, C.E.O. of Oscorp Industries. Osborn's impaled corpse, pierced deeply in the lower torso in two places, was found by his son Harry Osborn supposedly in the presence of Spider-Man. Spider-Man was also allegedly involved in the Green Goblin's murderous terrorist attack on the Oscorp board at the World Unity Festival sponsored by Oscorp in 2002, although no definitive connection has ever been proven. Recently it was suspected that he had found a new accomplice, the former Dr. Otto Octavius, now the dangerously violent sesquipedal Dr. Octopus, after the heist of a sizable number of rare Saint Gaudens golden coins from the National Savings Bank, Queens, where they were being stored temporarily. The questions around his connection to these malfeasances, along with his role in the aforementioned terrorist attack on _The Daily Bugle_ building in 2002, have often caused the citizens of NYC to deplore the webspinner's uncontrolled rampages throughout this city_. _Having first shown leadership in calling for this lawbreaker's arrest, _The Daily Bugle_ welcomes the highly gratifying news that Spider-man will trouble New York no more._

_When she had finished reading the news article, MJ's throat was tight, and gathering tears were starting to sting her eyes. _

_"Honey?" said John anxiously, looking over and noticing her silence. "Is everything okay?" _

_She pinched the corners of her eyes with her thumb and forefinger to stem the tears, and mumbled, "It's nothing, just this awful story in the Daily Bugle." Her voice caught. "It says that Spider-man is no more." _

_"Wow," said John slowly. _

_"I don't believe it."_

_"Why not?" asked John curiously, glancing down at the paper she held on her lap. "There's a picture, isn't there? Looks to me like his suit."_

_"It can't be," MJ argued hotly, "Because that's not something he would do, just give up like that – it's not the kind of person he is."_

_"Maybe he had to retire," said John reasonably. "Maybe he was seriously injured and couldn't continue."_

_"John, I saw Spider-Man run faster than machine-gun bullets and hold up a cable car full of kids," argued MJ even more passionately. "There's not much that could hurt him."_

_"Well, maybe he gave up for some other reason; maybe, as you like to worry, he got tired of always being slammed in my Dad's newspaper." As he said this, John turned his car onto MJ's street in Greenwich Village. _

_"Why would that bother him now?" MJ contended. She could hear tears in her voice, and swallowed convulsively. "Your dad's been on his case since he first appeared."_

_John parked the car at a meter in front of MJ's building, and climbed out to open the door for her. "Maybe he's taken up a new line of work," he joked. "Or found himself a girlfriend."_

_MJ found herself starting to get unreasonably angry. "It's not true" she said, in a clipped voice, her eyes sparking, "because Spider-Man is a hero. He constantly sacrifices himself for all the people who need him, and he wouldn't just stop doing that ever, for the simple reason that people are always going to need him."_

_After she unlocked the front door to her building, John held it open for her. Then, as they rode the elevator up to her apartment, he said calmly, "Honey, you know I don't agree with Dad that Spider-Man's a criminal. But maybe he's some kind of thrill-seeker. Maybe the novelty wore off, or maybe he discovered that he just couldn't stand all the attention after all. There are lots of reasons why he could have quit. After all, he must have some other kind of life, something else he'd rather be doing."_

_They'd arrived at her door, and John bent to give her the usual good night kiss. But suddenly she couldn't abide it, and at the last minute she turned her head to the side, causing his kiss to graze her ear faintly. _

_"Goodnight, John," MJ said quietly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow." Without waiting for an answer, she shut the door between them with a pointed click. Then she leaned heavily against it, resting her forehead in her hand as hot tears began to fall from her eyes. _

_She was certain that John was wrong, both in his interpretation of Spider-Man's motivations and in his disengaged, dismissive attitude to the whole situation. There was no way Spider-man would ever give up like that, she thought. There was no way that he'd quit, after working so tirelessly to protect the city, and caring so passionately about each individual life he saved -- as she knew he did from her own experience of his rescues. She also admitted to herself that she didn't want him to stop, because she always hoped to see him one more time. If he were walking around somewhere in the city with his suit off, she would never recognize him for who he was, never know if she bumped into him. She couldn't stand the thought that she might not see him again. Turning the deadbolt on her door, she decided that she would never accept the stupid claim that Spider-Man was no more._

Well, she didn't need to accept a snide comment from the smug jerk in front of her now, either. Doc Ock was obviously trying to frighten her, trying to get a rise out of her.

"He's not dead. I don't believe you," MJ said to him quietly, less defiant than she'd been a moment ago, but determined not to entertain the fears that her tormentor was trying to foster in her for even a moment.

"Believe it," Doc Ock snapped, losing patience with the conversation. He turned away from her again, lowered his goggles, and once again began rapidly typing commands on the keyboard.

Something started happening. MJ blinked and watched in astonishment as eight lasers erupted into life, shooting their dazzling beams into a small glowing, metallic sphere, which was now floating in the much larger containment field generated by the huge, curving multi-story arms of what had to be some kind of reactor.

The small sphere began to spinning, slowly at first, and then rapidly, its golden colour brightening dramatically with each speedy revolution.

And then, suddenly, it burst into what looked like a small sun. It was so bright, though, that MJ couldn't bear to gaze at it directly. The temperature shifted subtly also, and she felt an immediate lessening of the cold clamminess of the air. Gradually it started to feel positively warm, then tropically hot. MJ's insides hollowed out as she wondered again what was happening here. It was as if some apocalyptic drama, in which she had only an insignificant, unimportant bit part, were playing out before her eyes, with Doc Ock as the director and author of the play. But just as she realized abruptly that the hollow feeling inside of her was fear, a bone-chilling, mind-numbing fear more terrible than any she'd yet experienced –

"Surprise!" whispered a familiar voice, directly above her.

End of Part III

_A/N: Next up, lots of action, lots of romance, and some more revelations_.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: The characters and events of the movie Spider-Man 2 and the comics belong to Marvel, Sony, Sam Raimi, Stan Lee (and a vast number of others no doubt). I'm merely borrowing them for a little while. _

_A/N: I'm afraid this chapter is a fluffy, sugary confection that doesn't nearly do justice to one of my favorite scenes in the movie, but what can I say? I did my best. Reviews are always welcome. _

_A note on P. O. V.: This is MJ's story, so we will only be hearing from her. If you want Peter's P. O. V. you can a) watch the movie, or b) go read Scarlet's excellent novelization The Story Continues, one of my all-time favorite Spider-Man fics. I highly recommend it. If you're reading closely, you'll note her influence on this scene.  
_

Memories and Revelations

Part IV

Startled, MJ looked around at the unexpectedly cheery sound in her ear ... right up into Spider-Man's reflective eyepieces, or what remained of them. One was scorched black and the other appeared cracked, but they were a beautiful sight. So was he. With his lighthearted comment, he seemed almost like an old, familiar friend. MJ had never greeted the sight of someone's face with as much joy as she was feeling in that moment as Spider-Man leaned over her. The joy poured into her, filling the emptiness inside and driving out the fear. In amazement, she took in her rescuer's torn red suit, which curiously resembled her own tattered brown silk dress, along with his taut, muscled body, balancing improbably above her on a metal beam and tensing with leashed power.

While she was gazing at him in relief and wonder, she could feel a warm, heartfelt smile bubble up from deep inside and spread across her face. She wanted to tell him, _I knew you'd come_ ... but an almost overwhelming feeling of elated incredulity welled up inside of her and belied that assertion.

How was it he – a virtual stranger – always came through for her, when others seemed so ready to disappoint her?

Then MJ caught a movement from the opposite end the room in her peripheral vision, and forced herself to school her face into an expressionless stare. Reminding herself that she was an actress, a good one, she glanced back at Doc Ock, carefully rendering her face a bland mask as she did so. Luckily, he had his back to them at that moment, his extra metallic arms seemingly busy in pushing and poking at the ever-increasing small sun in front of him.

"Listen," Spider-Man was whispering, pulling her joyful gaze back to him with his urgent tone. His fingers began reaching for the knots in her wrist ropes while he continued, "as soon as you get out of here..."

A tentacle shot between their heads on its way to smash his jaw and he broke off his sentence suddenly, twisting aside from a claw at the last moment, then backflipping swiftly away. Landing lightly in a crouch on the floor just a few feet away, he faced his enraged enemy.

"Spider-Man!" Ock roared, tossing aside his goggles and stomping off the platform. "I should have known Osborn wouldn't have the spine to finish you!"

Spider-man seemed to pay no attention whatsoever to this bizarre remark, but MJ's jaw dropped. _Wait a minute ... **Harry** is responsible for all this? _she thought in disbelief. _I knew he hated Spider-Man, but surely not enough to set Doc Ock on someone? _

This information was so unsettling that MJ could not make heads or tails of it, and consequently became angry._ That monster could have killed Peter!_ she thought hotly. She was beginning to feel as though she didn't know Harry Osborn at all._ How could Harry send Ock after his supposed best friend, condone kidnapping me, and contemplate premeditated murder against someone he doesn't even know?_ she asked herself, enraged and confused. Then, as the two enemies faced off against one another, she filed this disturbing revelation away in her head for a later, less climactic time.

"Shut it down, Ock!" Spider-Man ordered in a strong voice that again seemed strangely familiar. Still crouching on the floor in a tense asana, he appeared ready to spring into action at any moment. The controlled power of his contracted muscles matched his decisive words: "You're going to hurt a lot more people this time!"

"That's a risk we're willing to take!" Ock shot back, striding rapidly toward him.

"Well, I'm not!" Spider-Man retorted in anger. MJ saw him look just behind his adversary in the direction of a thick mass of coiling black power cables, which appeared to be burrowing into a power grid like oily sea serpents. Suddenly he sprang toward them, somersaulting in mid air high over Doc Ock's head, and simultaneously casting webs on either side. As two of Ock's metal claws came up from behind to grab him, he crossed his wrists, still upside-down, binding the claws in the web.

MJ had not seen Spider-man's amazing feats up close and in person for so long that she'd almost forgotten how awe-inspiring they could be. Her fascinated eyes followed him closely as he continued forward in the trajectory of his leap, still heading towards the twining power cables, and chased closely by the striking tentacles. Her heart swelled with happiness that he was truly there, that he had come for her.

But just before he could land, the pursuing tentacles broke free of his web, lashing out and snaring Spider-Man by the wrists. He gave a groan of pain as they swung him around by the arms over MJ's head in a wide circle, finally slinging him up towards the building's high ceiling so hard that his body burst through the ramshackle roof and he disappeared from her sight.

MJ cried out in shock as he vanished, but in mere seconds, before she could feel either fear or despair, Spider-Man came swinging back into the building. He broke through the huge glass window in front of her, arcing high over the fire-filled machine and swiftly casting a new web line to change his direction. She could feel a delighted smile cover her face as Spider-Man propelled himself straight down at Doc Ock like an arrow, using his two feet to pound him in the chest with such force that they both crashed through the wooden platform floor into the water of the East River below.

The battling pair were right below her, so close that the tremendous splash from their impact had drenched her in cold river water, causing her to flinch and turn aside her head. Unfortunately, though, MJ could not see them. From the sounds of splashing and the rapid succession of punches reverberating up through the hole in the floor, MJ felt fairly certain that Spider-Man had the upper hand for the moment. She was almost sorry she couldn't see it. She strained forward ...

... And then realized that she was not in fact leaning forward of her own volition. Instead, she was being drawn inexorably toward the growing inferno by means of the heavy metal chains wrapped around her body. It seemed almost as though the chains were being magnetically attracted to the surging fireball in front of her. Its dreadful pull only intensified as a wild flare broke free from the large sphere of roiling flame, breaching some kind of force field and looping up to the roof. A tremendous surge of heat scalded her face and body. Then, before she could move or even react, MJ was hanging suspended in mid-air over the seething furnace, with the ropes on her wrist acting as her only anchor. Ock had hooked them around the pipe ... but now it too was starting to warp and bend towards the fiery sun. The next thing she knew, her body was lifted farther off the ground when the top end of the metal pipe broke free from the ceiling as a result of the magnetic field being created by the huge fireball. Now MJ was sliding along the pipe, closer and closer to the flames until, at the last moment, her rope caught and held on a little metal spigot attached to the top of the pipe. She screamed for help.

She was so terrified that she almost didn't notice that someone had heard her scream. "Hang on, Mary Jane!" she heard Spider-Man shout desperately, sounding as if he were a long distance away.

The spigot on the pipe finally gave way under the immense pressure, and MJ gave yet another shriek as she started to be sucked rapidly through the air toward the burgeoning fireball. Her mind was completely engulfed by the sheer terror of the moment, her heart racing, the sultry air suffocating her, the plunging sensation of falling hollowing out her insides ...

... and then, miraculously, she felt herself stop. She came back to full awareness to realize that she was again somehow hanging suspended in mid-air. The extreme heat seared the skin on her legs, but amazingly she wasn't moving any closer to the roiling mass of fire. Sobbing in relief, she tilted her head back as far as it would go as she tried to look behind her, to see what her rope had caught on.

It wasn't the rope that was caught, but rather something, _someone, _who had caught her. Perched sideways on the only metallic support large enough in girth to withstand the powerful magnetic field was Spider-Man. He had shot a web into the ropes binding her wrists and was now pulling on it with all of his might. She could simultaneously feel the incredible force of the magnetism attracting the heavy metal chains around her feet, and also the agonizing pressure on her wrists from Spider-Man's web doing everything superhumanly possible to counteract the power of the attraction. It hurt badly, but through the pain she knew somehow that he'd never let her fall. Muscles contracting and straining, head thrown back, he looked as though something in his soul wouldn't allow him to let go. Though at the rate this fireball was growing, she feared it would be only a matter of time before either the ropes, Spider-Man's webs, or her own wrist bones gave way – unless she could get the chains off. _God helps those who help themselves_, thought MJ, and desperately began thrashing and writhing, then kicking her feet, trying to loosen the chains enough that they would slip off her.

A second later, the churning inferno swelled again. The magnetic attraction from it sheared away the rest of the chains, and suddenly she was free. She went zinging wildly away from it at an incredible speed, whipping through the scalding hot air as if she were on a zip line.

Spider-Man reached out and caught her nimbly by the hand before she could go flying past him. His grasp was gentle, and he swung her in a curving arc behind him, slowing her momentum carefully with the strength of his arm, which felt as sturdy as a steel pivot, and setting her gingerly on the ground behind a post without a jolt. Just before he released her hand, he gave it a quick, light tug, breaking her confining wrist ropes apart as easily as if they were nothing but wisps of thread.

"_Run_!" he ordered.

Before she could move, or even turn away, however, an immense beam crashed into Spider-Man from behind, striking him so hard that he was slung sideways into a large, curving metal bracket which hung from the roof, hitting it with a painful sounding clang and finally tumbling to the floor amidst a pile of metal fragments and what looked to be straw from leftover packing crates. She shrieked and swung around to see Doc Ock looming up from behind, looking like a wacky space alien. Panicked, she watched one of Doc Ock's tentacles chuck aside the heavy wooden pier plank it had used to knock Spider-Man down and reach for his buried body. Suddenly, eerily, she was reminded of Peter's spread-eagled body being flung backwards into the brick wall of the restaurant earlier in the day, and landing hard, only to be covered in debris.

It was obvious that Doc Ock had knocked Spider-Man out cold. One of his tentacles picked up Spider-Man by the heel, suspending him upside-down in the air like a rag doll. MJ gasped in horror at Spider-Man's limp and boneless appearance. All at once, a feeling of déjà vu haunted her: a little under two years ago, she'd watched as a virtually defenceless Spider-Man, hanging weakly from a web line after he had heroically saved her life and the lives of more than a dozen helpless passengers in a tram car, was snared by a tow cable from the Green Goblin and yanked away to slam into the roof of the hulking ruins of a smallpox hospital on Roosevelt Island. She had never felt so helpless in her entire life ... until this morning when she saw Peter being buried alive in a pile of rubble before her very eyes ... and again now.

Another tentacle came spiraling toward the fallen hero, and suddenly a sharp spike extended from the center of it. "Let's see you scurry out of this one," Doc Ock taunted his unconscious enemy, with one of his gloating smiles.

MJ set her jaw, feeling her resolve hardening and her adrenalin spiking. She was not a hot-tempered woman by nature, but at the moment a burning rage was searing through her veins, stiffening her spine and sharpening her senses. She could not stand by and let that villain kill Spider-man. She _would_ not let her hero die. Heart pounding, she looked around the floor at her feet for a moment, and then found a thick, if short, wooden plank to serve as a club. She gripped it tightly, fully intending to use it to bash in that metal-armed monster's skull.

However, as MJ stepped up behind him and prepared to swing her plank with all her might, one of the tentacles lashed out and backhanded her violently across the room. For a few seconds, she lay stunned and winded on the wooden floor, gasping in agony, feeling as though she had been hit in the stomach by a wrecking ball. When at last she managed to sit up, pressing her hands against her sore abdomen, she could scarcely make sense of the spectacle in front of her. It was only with difficulty that she, still a bit woozy, perceived Spider-Man's straining silhouette across the cavernous room. Doc Ock was directly in front of him, convulsing and emitting showers of sparks as he was jolted by a powerful electric current. She shifted her position to one side and then she could plainly see Spider-Man contorting his toned, muscular body backwards. He was using his gloved hands to tear the corpulent mass of huge round power cables – cables that were thicker than his arms and legs – right out of their sockets.

Watching Spider-Man, MJ felt nearly giddy with the now-accustomed combination of awe and relief. Thanks to him, the massive machine would soon shut down: the hellish heat would cease and the intense magnetic waves, which were imploding the decrepit warehouse around them by causing its metal supports to buckle and fold, would quickly dissipate. In mere moments from now, he would have saved her life – and this time the city as well – once again.

But gradually she realized that something was wrong. Once he had sundered the thick black cables, leaving sparking, fraying wires behind, Spider-man tumbled amid a shower of sparks several feet backwards to the floor with the force of his pull, then twisted himself onto his feet as soon as he hit the ground. A couple of fragments of the cables flew after him, and MJ could also see the frayed ends of the severed cables in the grid sparking uselessly for a few seconds. Yet although the electric current had died and the lasers had stopped firing, MJ could tell by the intense heat on her face and the dull orangeish light which rested on everything that whatever that burning sun-thing was, it wouldn't be shutting down any time soon.

Spider-Man seemed to have reached the same conclusion. "Now what?" she heard him mutter in complete exasperation, extending his gloved hands, palms upward, in a gesture of helpless frustration. MJ began to crawl towards him as well as she could, still clutching her sore stomach. If they were both going to die in this livid furnace of heat and fire, which was looking more and more likely, she knew she wanted to be close beside him. But before she could reach him, Spider-Man moved swiftly across the room, landing in a crouch in front of Ock's prone body, which had been tossed into the water at the base of his reactor. He was starting to revive, eyes opening, while his tentacles began stirring in the water and making faint clicking noises. One lifted itself weakly, sparked a bit and then fell limply back into the river.

"Dr. Octavius!" she heard Spider-Man call. Yes, she remembered from the news articles that was this monster's name, before the accident ... Spider-Man was clearly reaching out to the man behind the machines, although for what possible purpose MJ could not fathom. She crawled a little nearer, sensing that their survival depended on whatever happened next and wanting to catch every word. Spider-Man was poised tensely in front of her, angled slightly off to one side so that, in the orange light, she could clearly see the profile of his mask and outline of his well-formed body. A few more inches, and she could see his lean shoulders, his hard muscles bulging through the holes in his costume, with the angular, vivid red spider that was spread over his back acting as a reminder of his heroic identity. But then, all at once, before she could draw any nearer, Spider-Man did something utterly unexpected. He lifted a gloved hand and in a smooth movement yanked the mask right off his face ...

MJ froze as her world veered and swerved and tilted crazily sideways. Her mind struggled to comprehend the unbelievable sight her eyes were seeing.

"We have to shut it down." Spider-man's strong young voice was urging the reawakening man before him. "Please tell me how ..." he pleaded intently.

Ock stared at the young man in front of him in amazement and shook his head as if trying to clear his vision. Holding her breath, MJ felt the crazy spinning sensation which was swirling her around and bewildering her slow to a halt, as everything in her life shifted to a new perspective. Nothing was the same any longer; everything she knew or thought she knew had changed.

Or had it? This incredible turn of events was unexpected, but it felt inevitable, too. On some level, hadn't she always known?

_Holding her lunch tray, MJ was walking quickly toward her gang's table. Not that she was in a particular hurry to sit with Flash and Kyle and her friends Lisa and Sherry. She sat with them every day. She supposed it was better than being stuck by herself, though, like poor Peter Parker sitting over there. She registered him vaguely, out of the corner of her eye, and then smiled to herself as she thought about the consternation that would result if she were to stop for the first time ever at Peter's table and sit beside him. All her girlfriends' jaws would drop simultaneously, and they would squalk and squeal like a gaggle of geese. Even more amusingly, Flash, her boyfriend, would grow red with impotent rage ... hmm, on second thought, maybe this idea wasn't such a funny one. Flash would certainly view her defection as an attack on his male prerogative, and then poor Peter Parker would bear the brunt of his outrage. Since Flash already made Peter's life a daily misery as it was, she certainly didn't want to be responsible for adding to his trouble. She felt bad enough that she could never persuade Flash to leave Peter alone. _

_While she was thinking, MJ was so preoccupied that she didn't even notice she was about to step in a puddle of spilled orange juice. _

_Suddenly her right foot in its chic little black leather boot skidded across the slippery floor, and she lost her balance. Before she knew what was happening she was falling backward, her lunch tray flipping high into the air and scattering its contents widely as her arms flailed out ineffectually, meeting only air in their futile attempt to grab onto something, anything, so that she could halt her precipitous descent. _

_Almost immediately, though, she felt a strong arm encircle her waist, and a warm chest press up against her back, as Peter Parker's boyish face loomed into view. He had an intently focused look in his vivid blue eyes and, incredibly, he caught her, breaking her fall by dropping his shoulder underneath her, and by abruptly stopping her downward momentum in mid-air with his left arm. He righted her with ease, and then she watched in amazement as, like a juggler, he caught the bottom of her tray on the tips of the fingers of his right hand. Next, still wearing the same intent look, he tilted it back and forth through the air, catching the pieces of food she'd had on it before each one could hit the floor. **Thump**, went the apple, **thump**, went the sandwich on its plate, **thump**, the milk carton and **thump**, the green jello, still in its bowl._

_It all happened in about two seconds or less_.

_MJ was amazed. "Wow!" she breathed, impressed. Peter wasn't unusually clumsy – although he did seem to trip a lot - but he'd never shown any signs of extraordinary coordination before either. "Great reflexes!" MJ marveled. "Thanks!"_

_"No problem." Peter was smiling modestly as he withdrew his hand from her waist and handed her the lunch tray. Taking it back from him, MJ looked at Peter's face closely, suddenly noticing that something about him seemed very different. After all, she'd lived next door to him for nearly 12 years; she'd seen his face nearly every day in her various classes all through school. But she'd never seen him look quite the way he did today. She'd always vaguely thought he was kinda cute, in a sweet, geeky sort of way, but today he looked really, really cute. He seemed somehow stronger and even somewhat burlier, too. For one thing, his arm had felt surprisingly solid as it supported her body. The expression in his eyes as he caught her, too, had been so intent. What was it about him? Finally, she managed to put her finger on the change. "Hey ... you have blue eyes," she said with a sparkling smile. "I didn't notice before with your glasses. You just get contacts?"_

_In response to this observation, Peter gave her a shy, eager smile, but didn't answer her question. She had long suspected that Peter Parker had a crush on her. Now, watching him stare at her with a goofy smile on his face and wondering if he would ever find his voice, she felt amused_. _As the silence lengthened, she laughingly raised her eyebrows. Yep, Peter was definitely crushing on her. For some reason that she couldn't understand, she wasn't at all embarrassed by this fact as she usually was by a guy's unwanted attention. No, somehow Peter's obvious interest in her felt like a real compliment. "Well, see ya," she said at last, forgetting her earlier questions about him and feeling unusually lighthearted as she headed for her table ..._

Ever since that day more than two years ago, MJ had known, deep down, that there was something very unique about Peter. Now it suddenly struck her that discovering Peter's face beneath Spider-Man's mask was completely unsurprising. Who else could it be?

While MJ's world settled back into place, Doc Ock appeared to arrive at the same conclusion, the only possible conclusion, at the exact same moment that she did. "_Peter Parker_?" he queried sardonically, his words echoing the revelation of that name in MJ's mind. Looking almost human again, Doc Ock smiled ironically at Peter, raising his thick black eyebrows at him as though the two of them were sharing a private joke between friends. "Brilliant, but lazy," he chuckled.

Peter didn't acknowledge this odd comment. "Look at what's happening," he said insistently, using a gloved hand to gesture behind him at the engorged fireball, which was now drawing in virtually anything in the building that was metallic and not nailed down.

Octavius looked over Peter's shoulder.

"We must destroy it," Peter urged intensely.

"I can't destroy it," Ock said adamantly, as the tentacles began writhing and pulling themselves out of the water. "I _won't_!"

A tentacle shot out and grabbed Peter by the throat. This time, MJ found it wasn't nearly so disturbing to watch Peter be manhandled as it was the last time she'd witnessed it, back in the café. She now knew that he could, if he wanted to, take his fingers and pry those pincers apart with ease. The only reason he wasn't doing so, she suspected, was that he didn't want the situation with Doc Ock to degenerate back into a fight.

Holding himself in place with one hand pressed to the ground, Peter kept his other hand upraised placatingly at his side. "You once spoke to me about intelligence," he said hoarsely, speaking with a little difficulty through the clamping pressure of the claw, "that it was a gift to be used for the good of mankind."

"A privilege," Octavius assented eagerly, giving a little nod, and MJ could see that his eyes had cleared for a moment. She remembered suddenly that he had been a scientist, a brilliant scientist, according to Peter and Harry. She thought she could understand how for a brief second as a keen, alert intelligence peered out of the man's weathered face.

"These things have made you something you're not," Peter was insisting. He was trying to encourage Octavius to remain in control of those mad, mechanical arms, MJ realized, and hoped desperately that he would succeed in getting through to him. "_Don't_ listen to them," he pressed.

While Peter was speaking these last words, the beams in the ceiling creaked loudly, attracting her attention momentarily. MJ saw the metal framing from the broken windows flying over their heads toward the reaction. She could even hear, out in the streets, the distant screeching of tires from nearby vehicles which were now being drawn by the magnetic pull of this rapidly-growing mini-nova. Then MJ returned her attention to the important conversation happening just a few feet away from her.

"Sometimes, to do the right thing," Peter was saying in a rough voice, "we have to be steady and give up the thing we want the most." The conviction in his tone gave MJ a strong feeling that he was speaking from bitter personal experience.

He continued earnestly, "Even our dreams." Again, she thought he spoke with grave authority, as though he knew precisely what it felt like to surrender a dream. In the back of her mind, she wondered exactly how much Peter had sacrificed "to do the right thing," but she was too distracted, too overwhelmed to think much more about it at that moment.

"You're right," Octavius mumbled at last, his voice sounding sad and lost. MJ started as suddenly the huge, rusting metal shell of a truck cab beside him was picked right up and sucked towards the fusion inferno, breaking apart into three large fragments as it went.

Then, in one of the strangest sights she had ever seen in her short young life, Octavius' metallic tentacles drew up around him like enormous serpents, opening and closing their sharp pincers and claws exactly like mouths. MJ could have sworn they were hissing. They were certainly emitting a strange assortment of whines, squeals and clicks as they apparently argued with their host.

"He's right," Octavius asserted in response to the limbs' furious protestations.

The tentacles snapped at him dangerously.

"Listen to me now," Octavius said angrily, gritting his teeth. Glaring at each one in turn, he then repeated harshly, "Listen... to... _me_... now!" For a moment he looked as deranged as he had when he'd first confronted them in the Village Deli.

Then the tentacle holding Peter's neck snapped its claws open, dropping away, and Dr. Octavius's face relaxed back into a melancholy expression.

Abruptly released, Peter could only gasp for a second. Then he fixed his eyes on Octavius again. "Now – tell me how to stop it!" he demanded quietly.

Octavius looked at the expanding fusion furnace that he had created. "It can't be stopped," he said bleakly, his voice filled with finality. "It's self-sustaining now."

Peter refused to accept this. "Think!" he urged the older man determinedly. To MJ, they sounded for all the world like two lab partners arguing about an experiment in science class, or like a student with skilled tutor, a tutor who was encouraging him to find the answer to a problem for himself.

"Unless..." Octavius face lit up, and he looked at the reactor, then at the gaping hole in the floor below it. Then he returned his eyes to Peter's face, declaring, "The river ... drown it!"

MJ's stomach plummeted and her heart stopped as, without a second's hesitation, Peter turned to go do so, not even pausing to send so much as a farewell glance in her direction – but, thankfully, before he could move, a metallic tentacle clamped around his arm, preventing him from carrying out his appalling intention. MJ had just managed to get to her feet at last, the ache in her midriff having receded somewhat. Now, reeling with horror after that unexpected close call, she had to put a hand out to a broken post in front of her to steady herself.

"I'll do it," Octavius was saying quietly.

She saw the two men look at each other for an instant with full comprehension on their faces; then the tentacle released Peter's arm, and the remaining three arms lifted Dr. Octavius up high out of the water. Dripping, he stepped widely over Peter, who tilted his head back and gravely watched his one-time mentor go towards the exponentially expanding fusion reaction.

At the edge of the furnace, Octavius turned around to face Peter one last time, and Peter stood as though to honor him. The two men exchanged a look of farewell, and an instant later, Peter was watching his former combatant and newly restored friend stride down to his death. Then he turned his head slowly and deliberately around toward her ... and, for the first time ever, MJ found herself staring openly into the unmasked face of the man who was both her hero and her love. Her breath caught in a tiny sob of happiness as they shared a profound moment of mutual recognition. To MJ, Peter's face above Spider-Man's suit seemed well-known and strange at the same time. But the look on his face – the same deep, tender, loving look he was always giving her – was not strange at all. Gazing across the room into those dear, familiar blue eyes, she emitted another little sob of gladness. Her vision swam with tears of wonder. Peter's expression revealed to her searching eyes his acceptance of and even his relief at her newfound knowledge. Despite the apocalyptic scenario they were caught up in, she too felt a strong sense of peace – no, a sense of absolute bliss – now that there were no longer any more secrets between them.

And then she saw his eyes widen in horror.

"No!"

The scream of anguish seemed to be torn out of his throat as Peter sprang into action, leaping toward her in a blur of speed.

MJ hadn't perceived what was happening at first, but, as Dr. Octavius tore out the metal restraints holding up the reactor behind them, a sudden shift in the magnetic force surging through the room was buckling the metal roof supports and causing the wall behind her to topple heavily towards her. She heard the creaking and groaning of the collapsing wall without registering its meaning. Then she felt some tiny bits of debris, little shards of glass and metal, raining down on her. She turned around ... and shrieked. Trying to retreat too hastily, she tripped and fell backwards. Then a large piece of debris, a heavy wooden post, toppled across her abdomen and pinned her to the ground. As the wall continued descending, she covered her head with both hands in a vain effort to protect herself from the rest of it...

... when she suddenly realized the wall was no longer falling. She opened her eyes...

... and once more found herself staring into Peter's beloved face, now poised just a foot or two above her own as he literally held the entire weight of the crumbling warehouse wall on his shoulders and back. He was bending over her at an angle of nearly 90 degrees, bracing himself on powerful legs while holding the wall with one hand over his head. Then, keeping his eyes on her the whole time, he shifted himself around until the whole weight of the wall was resting on his upper back. His muscles straining and contracting vigorously as he labored with all his might, Peter cautiously brought a second hand down behind him to push against it for additional support. She could see from his clenched face that he was putting forth an immense effort.

"Hi," he said gently, giving her a pained and trembling smile. It was a surreal moment. And yet, looking into his round, young, familiar face, MJ felt anchored.

"Hi," she replied tremulously. She tried, and failed, to contain the awe and relief that she was feeling at the sight of him looming so near over her, miraculously saving her once again.

"This is ... _really_ ... heavy ..." Peter admitted breathlessly, another adorably boyish and self-deprecating smile gracing his expressive face as he shook with his exertion. For an instant, MJ wanted to laugh out loud at the discrepancy between Peter's cute look and the astounding, mind-boggling way that he was balancing such a massively heavy weight on his shoulders. He was just such an incredible contradiction ... such an amazing fusion of two seemingly very different people.

But instead of laughing, she returned the earnestly seeking look on his endearing face warmly, letting all the love in her heart show in her shining eyes.

Suddenly Peter's eyes widened in fear as the wall sank further towards her, the weakening metal frame grating and scraping with an ominous groan. The space between them was inexorably narrowing, but somehow MJ wasn't afraid any longer. With her rational mind, MJ knew that this latest bizarre circumstance of Peter holding up a warehouse wall by himself was almost too incredible for belief, but she trusted in Peter's strength and will with her whole heart. She believed that Peter would be able to keep holding the wall off of them for hours, if necessary.

Perhaps she felt so certain of him because the determination in his expression had never been stronger. He was refusing to let go, refusing to give in. And at last, after months of puzzling over his expressions, she could read his face plainly. She could see for herself the reason why he would never yield. In the ambient golden glow of the huge furnace behind them, she looked down into the bottomless well of Peter's eyes and there in the depths she could see his desperation, his resolve ... and the unconcealed love for her that was fuelling his strength. There was no way he could hide it from her now, even though he'd denied it to her many times over the past two years. Her soul expanded exultantly as the barriers caused by two years of lies dissolved into nothingness.

The wall sank again, and although he was bent almost completely double now, Peter shifted his legs, turning his feet and angling his torso so that, incredibly, he was taking more and more of the wall's weight entirely on his back. At the same time, even while he was shaking with the strain of his herculean effort, he kept looking deeply in her eyes, as if he couldn't tear himself away, and his gaze affected her almost like a physical caress. He was close enough to her now that, trapped as she was, she could have reached up and kissed him, if she had wanted to do such a thing in so dire a moment.

At length, he spoke again. "MJ," Peter said in a husky voice, which seemed as though it were cracking under the incredible strain of the massively heavy weight he was bearing, "in case we die..."

MJ glowed in confidence. She had never been more sure about anything in her life as she was about the words she knew Peter was going to tell her. His eyes were already eloquently and ardently broadcasting the message. She was so certain that she didn't even need to hear him say it himself. "You _do_ love me," she finished for him, a shy smile of wonder beaming from her face.

"I do," he agreed in a shaky voice, his speaking face and eloquent gaze full to the brim with that very love. They were now mere inches apart, so close that MJ could see twin tiny, sparkling images of herself reflected in his enchanting blue eyes.

She couldn't resist. "Even though you said you _didn't _..." she teased him softly. As she did so, she felt the debilitating poison of all his denials being drawn out of her by the naked honesty and tenderness in his gaze.

He could only nod, but his face still spoke volumes.

MJ's own face shone and her whole being overflowed with a joy that she didn't know she could feel.

Then the platform beneath them creaked, and the wall shifted again. _This is it_, thought MJ, bracing herself inwardly for a crushing impact. There was a terrible groan of metal and a discordant jangling of glass, as the wall pushed Peter's straining body right next to hers, until he was barely an inch away from her, so close that she could feel the puffs of his panting breaths, pleasantly cool on her skin in the midst of the sweltering heat of the surrounding air.

All at once, she saw Peter's face twist in angry determination. Her eyes widened in disbelief as he simultaneously lifted the massive structure with just his shoulders and then pushed it over his head with both of his hands, letting out a fierce, primal groan as he did so. Then he shoved the whole thing up into the air and hurled it forward toward the boiling, bubbling whirlpool that the fusion ball had created as it was swamped with water. The sinking magnetic field finished the job of pulling the remains of the wall away from them. He'd used himself as a kind of lever, she realized, dimly recalling some basic science.

Finally rid of his crushing, oversized burden, Peter immediately lifted the heavy beam off of her, tossing it aside as if it were a tree branch and scooping her into his arms like a child. Her arms reflexively encircled his strong shoulders when he picked her up. He turned around, still cradling her, and she shrieked again as she saw the fresh horror that was bearing down on them.

A rusted-out framework from a nearby silo was rolling rapidly along the pier toward them, drawn by the still-strong magnetism of the collapsing fusion furnace, now a glowing incendiary whirlpool.

With a powerful spring, Peter leapt straight up into the air, quickly shifting her to his right side and tucking her securely under one arm while firing a web line at a far-off crane with the other. As they swung swiftly upwards in a wide arc, she clung to his solid chest, resting her head on his collarbone. And for the first time during that night's incredible ordeal, MJ felt completely, utterly, safe.

End of Part IV

_A/N: I don't know if I'll be continuing with this. I've read lots of fanfiction in different fandoms, some of it heavily based on dialogue from books, movies and t.v. shows, so it didn't occur to me that people would see it as plagiaristic_. _Apologies all, and for those who reviewed, thank you. _


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: None of this is mine. The characters, concepts, dialogue and settings all belong to Marvel, Sony, Sam Raimi, various writers etc, etc. Parts of the "flying scene" were inspired by jjonahjameson's tremendous MJ POV story "Walking in the Spider Web." Her MJ, her handling of POV, heck, her everything is better than mine, so run, don't walk, to read her stories. _

_A/N_: _Gee, it's amazing how one negative comment can suck the fun out of something, isn't it? Thank you to all the reviewers_ _who helped put it back with their thoughtful comments and encouragement. This chapter, with all its improbabilities, faults and silly fluff, is for you._

_P.S. Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!_

Memories and Revelations

Part V

_This is heaven_, thought MJ blissfully. Being held so closely yet so lightly in Peter's protective embrace was thrilling her to the core. The earth seemed to fall away as they soared upward and she felt as buoyant as if she were floating on air – which she supposed she was, in a manner of speaking.

All at once, their upward motion was suddenly but gently arrested. When they stopped, high above the docks, MJ felt herself seem to settle even further into Peter's firm chest, so far in that she could feel the steady, slowing thrum of his heartbeat resound deeply as if from within her own breast. MJ put her head down again, curling up on his chest to listen to it. As she did, he shifted his hold on her, dropping his arm around her waist and pulling her up slightly until she was resting on his hip. She realized that he was gripping the steeply sloping metal arm of a cargo-loading crane with one casual hand and a bracing foot, and that she was practically reclining on him. He felt warm and tangible, and he set her body tingling at every point where he was brushing against her. She closed her eyes with a delighted sigh, wanting to keep lying with him like that forever.

Suddenly she heard a faint whoosh behind her. She couldn't place the sound. She craned her neck over her shoulder, but it was difficult to make anything out in the darkness.

"Don't look down," Peter advised quietly, so she looked up instead and lost herself for a second in the blueness of his eyes. She felt him tremble a little as their eyes met, and he gently shifted her position again until she was lying flush alongside him, her weight supported by one arm loosely wrapped around her waist. Then he visibly gathered himself and asked, "Are you okay?"

MJ noticed that her own heart was beating at something like triple the rate of the even, steady drum beats she could still feel from him, but she knew that fear wasn't the emotion spurring it on. She wanted to reassure him, to dissipate some of the tension she could feel in his taut, alert body.

"You mean apart from being kidnapped, tied up for hours, chilled, drenched, almost burned, and nearly crushed to death?" she said lightly. Peter's eyebrows lifted as he grinned, and she thought she could just detect a slight loosening in his joints and muscles, a momentary relaxing of his shoulders.

"I'm fine, I think," she went on more seriously. "It's my dress that took the worst beating."

Peter chuckled a little. "Tell me about it." he said ruefully, for the second time that day. "I've got to come up with some better material for this suit than neoprene and lycra – something more durable. And less hot and itchy."

At this remark, they both laughed. An awkward silence fell for a moment, broken briefly by that strange, soft sound again. Then Peter, his eyes still holding hers in a sea of blue, added softly, "It's too bad about your dress. You looked really nice in it."

MJ beamed at him, feeling a rosy warmth blossom inside of her. His hand on her waist clasped her to him more tightly, his breath hitched, and for a second she thought breathlessly that he was going to kiss her. His eyes had darkened to a deep indigo, and they gazed intently into hers, vulnerable and hungry. But all at once he shuttered them, pulling back slightly, and the moment was lost.

Then Peter shifted her again, releasing the firm hold he had on her, and she found herself slipping out of his embrace to one side, onto something light and springy. It felt a bit like a hammock, strung up improbably high and pulled impossibly tight. Surprised, she put a hand out and touched a slender strand of something like a whipcord, stretching tautly away into the darkness to the side of her. She looked over Peter's shoulder to see several of these pale, glimmering cords converging behind him to connect in a thick, knotty clump to the arm of the cargo crane, just below where his hand was resting. Then, in wonder, she turned her head away from Peter in the opposite direction to see the other sides of these faintly shimmering lines fanning outward and upward away from them, spreading out to form the skeletal structure of a giant wheel-web. She could just see the glimmer of a line stretching straight up over her head, connecting with the midpoint of the crane's arm, and yet another dimly gleaming line forming a tenuous bridge across to a series of steel cables hanging from the same crane, and a few more strands, below and beside her, also extending to link with the other side of the cargo crane's base. Amazed, she understood in a flash that during their brief conversation, Peter had been casting web lines around her, beginning the construction of a huge web to support them high over the city.

"It will hold; you don't need to worry," Peter said encouragingly, noticing her scrutiny of the webbing.

"I'm not worried," said MJ coolly, raising sparkling eyes to his again, and to prove it she took her other arm, which she'd had curled around his neck, and, rolling over onto her back with an arch smile at him, fully extended it to take hold of yet another web line just above her head. Something flickered in Peter's eyes for a moment as he watched her stretching, but he merely said, "Hang on, and I'll be right back. I'm just going to reinforce the other side. Then we'll talk."

With that, he crawled rapidly up the arm of loading crane, and from there, swung across to the series of steel cables hanging opposite, sending a few web lines in different directions across the web as he landed. One long strand looped down through the center of the space, swaying lightly in the wind as he crawled to the base of the structure. Then he sent forth a web line to catch it as it hung down, pulling it tightly into a Y shape as he did so. She turned toward him, watching in awe as he constructed a frame on the other side to match the one she was resting on, anchoring all the threads that he had held gathered in one hand around a metal beam at the base. After he was done, he cast a new line and swung himself wildly back up to the top of the first support high over her head. Then he poised himself there, improbably still, sending down several more web lines into the center of the web. He looked like an acrobat balancing on a high-wire, or trapeze artist swinging crazily and dangerously between different poles of a circus tent without a net. But he wasn't. He was Peter Parker, Amazing Spider-Man.

He vaulted back across the wide space again, and she caught him glance in her direction while he began moving agilely up and down the crane cable opposite, sending line after line of shimmering silk into the center of the web, until all of its radii were bisected and crisscrossed with threads extending neatly and symmetrically out from the end points of the Y in every direction. He was showing off for her, she realized, with a smile stealing across her face. It was sweet and romantic and strange all at once, but she liked it. She supposed that Peter had never before had a truly knowing, appreciative audience. Or no, maybe that wasn't strictly true. She had certainly been his audience, if an unwitting one, on more than one occasion in the past.

_The pavement below came rushing up with incredible speed, and the wind blew into MJ's eyes so hard that they stung. She squeezed them shut, screaming mindlessly ... but, at the last moment, a strong arm encircled her waist. Someone pulled her securely into a warm chest, shifting his grip on her and smoothly turning her the right way again in the air. Then she felt herself shooting back upwards at top speed. Hysterical, her throat raw from her screams, she kept her eyelids clamped shut, hardly believing her senses and holding desperately onto whatever was holding her while she waited in terror for the pavement to strike. _

_All at once, the wind changed direction, and now MJ felt as though she were flying, flying so fast that it seemed unreal. Something shifted her body around and, instinctively, she wrapped her arms around someone's neck, hanging on for dear life. Eventually, her mind caught up with her body to tell her that she wasn't going down any more. She opened her eyes carefully and saw that her arms were resting around a pair of lean, sturdy shoulders which were covered in a glossy red material ribbed with web patterns. The skyscrapers behind these shoulders looked peculiar, rising and falling drunkenly as they rushed past. Astounded, she turned her head to look at the blank red mask of the man swinging effortlessly with her on a fine thread that was almost invisible, except for the occasional shimmer it gave as it caught the sunlight. _

_Where was the webbing coming from? she asked herself in wonder. A second later, she perceived it really was emerging from his wrists, projecting itself out through tiny slits in his costume with a tiny sibilant thwip to adhere to the cornices of buildings and the flat, polished surfaces of windows. Watching in fascination as he launched then caught each glittering strand with a deft hand, MJ began to relax, leaning into the vigorous and agile body against hers with a sigh of contentment. Although he was constantly shifting her from one arm to another while changing hands to fire his webs, she was completely comfortable in his gentle grasp. His chest felt rock solid against hers and his grip on her waist was sure. Their motion, too, was soothingly regular – a swift downward descent, as exciting as a roller coaster drop, followed by a quick, steady climb back up to the sky. She sensed that he was making the ride as smooth as he could, even though they were hurtling forward at a breath-taking speed. Turning her head to regard her hero's masked face again, MJ smiled joyfully. Her fear was completely gone, replaced by a sense of exhilaration that she didn't know she could feel. _

_Who was he? she wondered. Who was this incredible man holding her improbably safe and secure so high above the ground? Even in the midst of her awful terror earlier, she had noticed Spider-Man performing some amazing, mind-boggling feats: diving down into the square below to prevent a child from being crushed by a toppling wooden arch, running faster than the deadly machine gun bullets which that goblin-man had directed at him, and bouncing swiftly towards her across the huge carnival balloons like a gymnast on a trampoline. Watching him had been an unforgettable experience, its strangeness compounded by an odd little incident that suddenly stood out in her memory. Hanging frantically onto her slipping fragment of balcony,__she could have sworn_ _that she'd heard him call out her name_ –_ her full name, Mary Jane, which almost no one but her mother ever used any more. This inexplicable incident gave her the curious feeling that he had somehow singled her out in the middle of all the chaos. _

_Being carried through the concrete canyons of the city in his arms was giving her that feeling too. She clung to him more tightly, savoring the solid warmth and reality of his body – the only thing between her and certain death in the streets far below. Her fingertips tentatively explored the dense wall of muscles across his back and shoulders until she felt him shudder at their light touch. Then it occurred to her that maybe he was ... could it be? ... ticklish. A ticklish super-hero, how funny. Embarrassed, she stilled her fingers and stifled a giggle. She didn't want him to think she was a silly little girl. _

_Much too soon, the wondrous ride ended. As they swooped gracefully around the spire of a cathedral, heading towards the romantic rooftop garden of a fancy hotel, Spider-Man let his latest line go. He alighted on the lawn carefully, holding her off the ground as he ran a step or two, making sure she didn't touch the grass of the garden until his momentum had slowed enough to let her down smoothly. Once she managed to stand, he looked her over from head to toe, making sure she was all right, before he finally took his hands off her waist. _

_"Well," he said, slightly breathless, "beats taking the subway." His voice was young and strong, but his tone was mischievous. MJ grinned at his playful quip. _

_Suddenly she noticed they weren't alone on the rooftop. "Don't mind us, folks," Spider-Man was reassuring a stunned young couple who had been sitting on a stone bench next to a perfectly manicured flower bed, looking as if they were about to kiss. The man and woman gaped at them, their faces incredulous at having their romantic moment interrupted by another pair literally dropping out of the sky next to them. But he went on lightly, "she just needs to use the elevator." Then he turned to leave. _

_"Wait!" MJ cried excitedly, clutching his arm quickly to stop him. She didn't know why but she couldn't let him get away without at least finding out his name – or something other than what the newspapers were calling him – masked freak, webslinging wonder, criminal vigilante. She knew now that he wasn't any of those things, but she longed to know who he was instead. _

_"Who ... who are you?" Her hushed voice was tinged with hope. _

_"You know who I am," he replied in a low voice. Something MJ couldn't identify passed between them, something that felt like a buried recognition. For a dreamlike moment, MJ thought he seemed familiar, but she could not quite put her finger on why. Perhaps he reminded her a little of someone she knew ... but the shadowy figure, whoever he was, lingered on the edges of her consciousness, refusing to step into the light of day. "I do?" she asked doubtfully at last, still wracking her memory while she scrutinized his impassive masked face as if it could offer her a clue._

_Was that a trace of disappointment in the air? Almost before she could register it, his cheerful voice said teasingly, "Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man." Then he pulled his arm easily out of her grasp as he bounded towards the low garden wall. Springing into the air, he did a double front flip that would have been the envy of an Olympic gymnast, and dove off the terrace._

_Stumbling a bit in her high heels, MJ rushed to the edge of the rooftop to lean out over a stone parapet. Fascinated, she watched as Spider-Man caught the corner of a building with a web, then went slinging his way down the street on his tenuous-looking elastic web lines. He swung across the street with lightning speed, then, holding onto a new web line, ran sideways on a row of windows to pick up his momentum before propelling himself forward and sweeping out of sight. The faintest echo of a jubilant "Whoo-Hoo!" floated back to her as he faded into the distance. She felt like cheering too. The intoxicating feeling of soaring through the air in his embrace lingered. Wow, what an incredible experience. What an incredible man ... _

Recalling the rooftop garden, MJ smiled to herself and decided that, like her, Peter was a complete romantic. Before she'd known his true identity, she'd assumed that her rescuer had simply picked a convenient location, a pretty spot to drop off a pretty passenger. Now she understood that he'd chosen such a romantic setting deliberately for her, Mary Jane Watson, the girl he loved. Maybe, on some level, after his dramatic rescue of her, he'd been trying to tell her not only who he was, but also how he felt about her. His cryptic words, "_You know who I am_," reverberated distantly in her brain. Remembering, she grew almost certain that Peter had wanted to tell her who he was more than once, but couldn't, for some unknown reason, bring himself to reveal his identity. _Why not_? she wondered, wrinkling her brow. He was still such a mystery to her – he'd apparently always had feelings for her, and he'd had the means literally to sweep a girl off her feet. So why hadn't he pursued her more openly, in between saving people? She would have fallen into his arms.

Instead, Peter had given her the oddest little clues, clues that were hard for her to decipher. It was as though he both wanted and didn't want to reveal himself to her. She recalled another tell-tale moment – on the night they'd shared that spectacular kiss, he had jumped into the fray too quickly, fighting for her without his mask and only narrowly avoiding her inquisitive gaze. Had he secretly hoped she would catch him? That same night, he'd told her twice, once as Peter and once as Spider-Man, "_I was in the neighborhood._" In retrospect, he had been so obvious that she wondered how she had missed decoding his secret on her own.

She remembered, too, their intense conversation in Aunt May's hospital room. He'd given a brief, rueful laugh at her girlish profession of love for Spider-Man and she'd thought for a second he might be laughing at her – but he was laughing at himself, she now realized, at the absurdity of their situation, at their odd, two-person triangle. She recalled how neatly he had deflected her eager question about Spider-Man's opinion of her, giving her what amounted to a heartfelt declaration of love from Peter Parker in its place. He'd actually driven her fantasies of Spider-Man out of her head with his sincere words. In fact, they had moved her so profoundly that, anxious to free herself from another entanglement, she'd barely waited for the door of Aunt May's room to close behind them before she had dumped poor Harry. Then she'd gone home to continue her daydreams about Spider-Man, only to find to her bemusement that in her imagination Peter Parker's face kept superimposing itself on Spider-Man's mask.

High on the other side of the crane, Peter was done weaving his gigantic web, having just connected all the radii with a thread spiralling out from the Y in the center to join all the angular spokes in an exquisite circular pattern. She watched him climbing lithely back down to her on his web, and marveled that she had never before noticed the flexible ease, the unconscious liquid grace, with which he moved. Or no, maybe she had noticed it, she thought, picturing him drop fluidly into the chair across from her at the Village Deli just that morning. But it was only now that she saw him crawl nimbly across a huge wheel-shaped web of his own making that she grasped the true significance of his unnatural grace.

Perhaps, MJ thought, she'd always known Peter was Spider-man, deep down inside. It was as though she'd had all the pieces of the puzzle before her, and but hadn't quite managed to assemble a complete picture of the whole man. Some part of her, though, had known without words. That was why she had kissed him so eagerly, searched the skies so tirelessly, and defended him zealously before strangers.

As Peter arranged himself neatly beside her on the web, she silently drank in the sight of him, dear, achingly familiar, no longer strange at all in his torn red suit. They looked at each other for a long moment, then, having anchored herself by looping her fingers around a taut silken strand beside her, MJ hesitantly voiced her thoughts. "I think I always knew ..." she said softly, "all this time ... who you really were." She gave him a gentle, wholehearted smile.

Peter's face was open and vulnerable as he returned her gaze. A faint scrape along one cheek was the only residual evidence of all his heroic exertions during that long evening. He regarded her with the same intensity in his dark, ocean-blue eyes which had been there the whole time he had held the warehouse wall up off of her.

For that reason, MJ found Peter's next words simultaneously surprising and inevitable. "Then you know why we can't be together," he said seriously, raising his eyebrows slightly for emphasis. "Spider-Man will always have enemies." His tone was pleading, and his eyes appeared more blue and deep than ever, set starkly off against his pale, earnest face. They held hers, begging her to understand. She swallowed painfully. She knew, she just knew, where this was going – but not where it was coming from. Why oh why did they keep playing out the same script over and over? What was this now, the third time he'd explicitly rejected her? It hardly seemed possible, but this time hurt even worse than the previous two had ... perhaps because she had just finally recognized Peter for who he truly was.

Her sad face seemed to strengthen his resolve. He gave her another tender look, saying emphatically, "I can't let you to take that risk."

She fought tears as she grasped the silky, interlocking strands of the web, noticing idly that they were adhering to the skin of her fingers ever so slightly. She _would_ not cry.

"I ..." Peter struggled to continue, lowering his eyes with a pensive expression on his face, as though the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders. "I will _always_ be Spider-Man." His voice cracked slightly under the strain of his feelings, and his indigo gaze returned to hers, regretful and resolute at the same time. "You and I can _never _be."

The pressure of the emotions inside MJ became overwhelming, and she found herself at a loss for words. She could feel her chin trembling as she swallowed her grief, so she looked down to the darkened streets underneath them for the first time in an attempt to collect herself. On the slick, rain-wet road below, she could see a long line of police cars, with sirens blaring and lights flashing, quickly approaching the docks. But MJ wasn't interested in what was happening far beneath her. She lifted her eyes to Peter again, and was transfixed by the tenderness in his gaze. She couldn't help but allow all her feelings of love and sorrow to show in her own eyes, and he gave her one of his sweetest, most loving smiles in response. It was a look of encouragement but also a look of farewell, she realized. Then he handed her something, a slender satiny strand. In surprise, she took it and wrapped both hands around it, marveling afresh at its springy, silken, elastic consistency.

"I'm going to lower you down to the upper deck of a tugboat below us," Peter told her quietly. "It's a long way down, but you'll be perfectly safe. If you hold onto the web and keep looking up at me, you won't even be frightened." With those words, he straightened himself up, and lifted her right off the face of the web, hoisting her effortlessly into the air with just one hand. Not even with a hand, actually – after a closer look, she realized in wonder that the web was still connected to his wrist.

For a second, she didn't think she'd be able to find her voice, but finally she managed to say, "I know." Then, desperate to prolong the moment, she added shakily, "Thank you. For saving my life, I mean." He was crawling off the edge of the web now, bringing her smoothly after him, but he paused at her words.

"It was nothing." He closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, they were full of joyful relief. It occurred to her that she would never again have to wonder what Peter was thinking behind impenetrable blue eyes. They were so open and transparent that she could read him like a book now, at least when it came to his feelings for her.

Then, bringing her after him carefully with his arm extended to make certain she wouldn't bang her shins against the girders of the crane, Peter climbed up and over the metallic arm where they had been resting so comfortably a scant few minutes before. He held her suspended in midair for a second, giving her another tender smile that made her heart ache. As he bore her up, she felt weightless and free ... until he began lowering her slowly back to ground far below, somehow spinning the web strand right out of his wrist. Then gravity seemed to pull her down, dragging her further and further away from him. She did as he said, though, keeping her eyes on his face nearly the whole way down ... not because she was afraid of heights – if she ever had been, he would certainly have cured her of such a fear by now – but because she had no idea when she would see him again. She wanted to memorize his expressive face, a mirror to her own, full as it was of such powerful, conflicted emotions – love and pain, joy and sorrow, acceptance and loss.

Far too quickly, her feet touched down softly on the wooden deck of the tug moored by the base of the cargo crane. She opened her hands, letting go of the web line, and saw him release it too with a flick of his wrist at the same moment that she did. The wind caught the filmy stuff and lifted it as light as gossamer. It drifted and furled on the breeze for a second, tangling itself up, before it blew completely away, vanishing as though it had never been. Once again MJ's tears threatened at the loss of this last tenuous connection with him. She realized anew that she didn't know when, or even if, she would see Peter again – certainly not before her wedding, the day after tomorrow. She strove to keep her vision clear, though, so she could keep looking up at the remote figure, balancing far out on top of the metal arm of the crane in a long, angular crouch, small and impossibly still. His face was a pale, distant beacon against the black sky and the distance between them had never seemed greater.

Far away, she heard cars stop, a car door opening, then rapid footsteps. Someone frantically called her name, "Mary Jane!" She glanced over her shoulder long enough to see that it was John – good, kind John – who was running toward her by leaps and bounds. He jumped easily from high off a staircase to the dock beside the boat, stumbled hastily on board and scrambled to climb the rickety stairs to the top deck of the tug. She watched him for a moment, her hand resting on the railing in front of her, and then she looked back at Peter, feeling an almost unbearable ache in her heart.

She found herself thinking distractedly of a line in the middle of the second act of Wilde's play, spoken by Cecily to Algernon when they learn that they must part after they've only just met. The line, "_even a momentary separation from anyone to whom one has just been introduced is almost unbearable,_" had never had much meaning for her. MJ, often a little impatient with the effervescent, shallow Cecily, usually delivered it flirtatiously, with the animated sparkle of a coquette sure of a conquest. But tonight, now that she had finally seen the true face of the man she loved for the first time, the line echoed in her heart with an eerie new resonance. No longer a throwaway joke, it seemed almost too painfully true.

Suddenly she needed all the comfort that she knew John wanted to give her. She clambered down the stairs from the operator's deck and threw herself into his arms, allowing his warm hug to engulf her. He pressed his face to her neck through her hair, kissing it over and over, and she buried hers in his shoulder ... but something was _off_ somehow. MJ couldn't help noticing that John seemed slighter, more insubstantial and, well, more ... _spongy_ than before, despite the fact that he was taller and broader in stature than ... Peter. Then she realized what she was doing and scolded herself for comparing an ordinary person – one who was remarkably good-looking and fit to boot – to Spider-man. It wasn't exactly fair.

Perhaps it was inevitable, though: after all, the last man who had held her in his arms, mere moments ago, had been Peter. Eyes closed, MJ relived the paradoxical power and gentleness of Peter's embrace and the intense sensations it had evoked for one last moment. She had never experienced anything remotely like the unique feeling of being held so lightly and tenderly in such vigorous arms. Once more, MJ swallowed the bitter, acrid taste of loss. She raised her eyes to look back at Peter.

He was masked now and standing on the crane's arm with the air of someone who had just completed a difficult task. As she watched him, he turned to go, giving her one last parting glance over his shoulder, before he cast a web line and swung away so swiftly and silently that she didn't even see which direction he'd taken. He was gone.

It was only then that MJ allowed the first few tears to fall. They inched down her cheek slowly and seeped into John's cloth-covered shoulder.

"Oh, God, MJ, I've been so worried about you." John pulled back from her to look in her face, and began wiping the tears from her cheek with a thumb. "Everyone's been so worried. I hung around the police station waiting for word all day. Your mom's been calling my cell phone almost every five minutes, your friend Louise called six times, your director called. No one had any idea what had happened to you."

"It was pretty wild," said MJ in a shaky voice, nervously wondering all of a sudden how on earth she was going to explain the evening's bizarre events to outsiders. She wasn't even sure she understood everything, except for the crucial fact that she was not, after all, merely a bit player in Doc Ock's apocalyptic scenario, as she'd originally believed. No, amazingly, she was actually the leading lady in the scene, just as she had been, without knowing it, when the Green Goblin had tried to drop her off the Queensboro bridge. Peter _loved_ her ... had loved her enough to save her life on four, no, _five_ different occasions now. After their recent farewell conversation, this was a bittersweet revelation.

John put an arm around her waist and began guiding her slowly down the narrow stairway. She went gingerly, finding her movement forward hampered by John's almost constrictive embrace. He seemed afraid to let go of her, as though she would disappear if he removed his arm. "How are you feeling?" he asked, looking down at her anxiously. He took in her torn dress along with the streaks of dirt on her face and arms, but she ducked her head under his scrutiny.

_That's the question of the hour, isn't it?_ thought MJ. She had no idea how she was feeling, and doubted she could articulate a single emotion out of the unruly tumult swirling around inside of her. She guessed it was lucky that those weren't the kinds of feelings about which John was asking. "Uh ... I think I'm okay," MJ replied quietly. John grabbed her hand to lead her across the gangplank between the tug and the dock, and then, as soon as they were on solid ground again, he pulled her back into his side, tightly.

"Just to be sure, I think we should have you checked out at an Emergency, or one of those all-night walk in clinics." John was saying, as they moved awkwardly along the docks. Ahead, MJ could see police officers climbing out of cars and, of all people, John's father, J. Jonah Jameson, striding out in front to meet them. He was rapidly approaching, his open overcoat flapping in the breeze in time with his long strides. It was hardly surprising that he would be one of the first on the scene. She suspected he was not there solely as a supportive father-in-law-to-be. He probably wanted to have an inflammatory headline for the early edition of _The Bugle_ the next morning. The question of what she was going to tell people about the incredible events of evening suddenly started to seem urgently pressing in its importance.

"Well!" said Jameson gruffly, as he reached them. "This place looks like a bomb hit it." As he spoke, MJ looked around, noticing for the first time the row of darkened street lights bent and twisted sideways like pipe cleaners, a bunch of wrecked cars piled up against each other like a demolition derby, the metal girders of some ruined shells of buildings bent over at grotesque angles, and the fragmentary remains of the warehouse revolving around in a circular swirl in the water at end of the pier. "Looks like Spider-Man has left his usual wave of horrible destruction and costly damage to public property in his wake," J. Jonah Jameson remarked disgustedly.

With a painful jolt, MJ woke up out of her heartsick daze. She looked at J. Jonah Jameson furiously and snapped, "Spider-Man saved this city tonight." Suddenly it struck her afresh that she was the only witness to the evening's bizarre events. She quailed inwardly as the pressure of what to say loomed large over her. Then she pulled herself out of John's tenacious grasp and squared her shoulders at the blustery man towering over her. "I should know," she said with dignity, "because I saw it all."

Jonah Jameson's steel-grey eyes took on a speculative gleam at that, and MJ shut her mouth, remembering that everything she said would probably wind up in _The Daily Bugle _tomorrow. "Is that so, Miss Watson?" he inquired coldly. "Like the way he caused a train wreck thanks to his dangerous abilities this afternoon?"

MJ stared at Jameson for a moment in mystification and then looked wonderingly at John, who was rolling his eyes at his dad's words. He saw the question in her face and explained, "Spider-Man somehow stopped a runaway train with his webs this afternoon, before it could run out of track. No one was hurt – the survivors are even saying he saved them. It's all anyone's been talking about in this city the whole evening on the news, on the radio, on talk shows. There've been interviews with experts, interviews with witnesses, interviews with survivors from the train ..."

"That train wouldn't have been speeding out of control if it hadn't been for those two brawling maniacs," an irate Jameson interrupted. He glared at his son. " ... bashing huge dents on city property, breaking windows, folding the front of a train like a fan and generally using it like their private playground. They didn't care that hundreds of citizens were going to be hurt ..." _This is too surreal_, thought MJ, wondering distractedly if Peter's life were always like this. Did he have to listen in silence to other people attack Spider-Man, impugning his motives and misrepresenting his actions? How did he stand it?

Jameson went on: "those two lunatics also did thousands of dollars of damage to the West Side Clock Tower, which has stood untouched for over a hundred years." He was obviously heading for the kind of full-blown tirade of which he was so fond. But as he was speaking a short, dark-haired man, who reminded MJ of nothing so much as a little black Scottish terrier, darted to his side, and began hovering at his elbow. "Mr. Jameson," he interjected, a little hesitantly, "Eyewitnesses in nearby office buildings reported that Spider-Man pulled Doc Ock off that tower ..." he broke off hastily, as Jameson turned a steely glare in his direction.

MJ recalled her long afternoon and evening of captivity, which she had spent wondering if Peter would be able to find Spider-Man and doubting whether Spider-Man would come for her. The whole time, he had been fighting for her, fighting for ordinary people in the city, trying to prevent a madman from carelessly taking lives ... and stopping a speeding train full of passengers! Even holding up a five-storey wall was nothing to that. All at once, the issue seemed too crucial to be determined by fear. She couldn't keep silent because of qualms that she might say the wrong thing; she didn't have time to be intimidated by Jameson's bluster – too much was at stake.

No, MJ looked at Jameson's scowling face and realized that she had a once in a lifetime opportunity to do something she'd longed to do for ages. She couldn't say anything, of course, about the train or the clock tower, but she could make sure that people, for once, would get the real story of the fusion reaction – or as much of it as she could tell safely, without compromising Peter. And she could have the satisfaction, just once, of making J. Jonah Jameson publicly eat his insulting words about Spider-Man.

"Mr. Jameson," said MJ, with exquisite politeness. "Do you want to know what happened here tonight? Do you want to print it in your newspaper?" The four of them had turned and were heading back toward the police cars. MJ was walking, her back ramrod-straight, in between John and his father. Ahead of them, she could see cops milling about with walkie-talkies, cameras, notepads, checking damage on the streets and buildings. One of the officers, a portly man who looked like he was in charge, started to approach her, but Jameson impatiently waved him back.

"How much do you want?" asked Jameson brusquely, looking down into her face. He was striving for a neutral expression, but she could see the anticipatory gleam in his eyes that he was attempting unsuccessfully to suppress. She could tell that he was picturing a glossy full story in the early edition, probably accompanied by some of Peter's old photographs, leading hopefully to a massive sell-out and extra editions printed throughout the day.

"Oh, I don't want money," said MJ, calmly returning his probing gaze. "I do have a price, though." She stopped for a moment, turning to face him, and the others stopped with her. "I will only tell you my story of what happened, _exclusively_, on one condition – if you print my _exact_ words. " She raised her voice slightly, her eyes snapping sparks. "There will be no slurs at Spider-Man, no smears on his character, no dredging up of old, so-called 'crimes,' no biased adjectives, no negative slant, no inflammatory editorial comments." After saying this, she held her breath, waiting to see what Mr. Jameson would do. Almost anything seemed possible in that moment.

For a second, J. Jonah Jameson stared down at her, his face impassive. Then his mouth twisted in wry dissatisfaction and he grudgingly stuck out a large hand. "Done," he said, gruffly.

MJ looked at the offered hand, remembering something that Peter had told her about Jameson a while ago. On one of their rare dates, before she'd started seeing John, she had complained to Peter about _The Daily Bugle_'s treatment of Spider-Man, saying that the chief editor must be the lowest, vilest, most unprincipled scum. Peter grew thoughtful and remarked mildly that he believed Jameson subscribed to one basic journalistic principle at least. Then he told her that once, while the blustering editor's life was being threatened by a dangerous madman, he himself had seen Jameson refuse to name a source.

MJ paused before she put out her own hand. "Is that a promise?" she inquired coolly. She gave Jameson a hard stare. "I want your word as a newsman." Catching a slight twitch of movement at her shoulder out of the corner of her eye, she turned to see John looking at her with admiration and surprise.

Jameson lifted his wintry grey eyes to the heavens as if to appeal for patience in the face of silly hero-worshipping young girls. "You have my word as a newsman," he returned crossly. They shook hands, a brief pump. Then he turned to the small terrier-like man who was still hovering at his elbow. "Hoffman, you got that tape recorder?"

"Right here, chief," said Hoffman, in a subdued voice. He too was looking at MJ with an expression of respect in his eyes.

"Dad, now's not the time or place for an interview," put in John Jameson anxiously. "I'm taking MJ to a hospital to get her checked out."

"I've got to get her story now, if we want to make the early edition," retorted Jameson. "She doesn't look injured to me."

MJ glanced over her shoulder at her troubled fiancé. He could be so over-protective sometimes, but she guessed it was sweet. "It's okay, John," she assured him. "I feel mostly alright and this is really important."

Then she turned back to Jameson. Her heart was pounding but she knew it was with anticipation as much as with nervousness. "Spider-Man saved the city tonight," she began again, leaning forward slightly to speak into the tape recorder that the man named Hoffman was holding up to her. "A man called Dr. Otto Octavius had built a huge machine over there in that wrecked warehouse. He was trying to create a reaction – I think it was a fusion reaction, like the one that went wrong last month – and Spider-Man came and stopped him." She closed her eyes, remembering, because it was important to get all the details right. "When he showed up, Spider-Man said, 'Shut it down, Ock; you're going to hurt a lot more people this time.' Octavius said that he was willing to take that risk, and Spider-Man replied, 'Well, I'm not.' Then he tried to pull the plug on the machine. Dr. Octavius tried to stop him, and they fought this terrible battle, which Spider-Man won."

She paused a minute, as new, overwhelming memories broke over her like a wave – Spider-Man putting his whole soul into pulling her out of the fire, Peter yanking the mask off to try to reach Octavius with a familiar face, Peter's loving eyes gazing into hers from only inches away as he strained to hold that immense wall up with his back ..._ You do love me ... I do ..._ She quailed a little, feeling an echo of the night's intense emotions running over her consciousness like a seismic tremor. It occurred to her suddenly that Peter had saved the city, not Spider-Man. She had to remember to be careful of what she said – she had to give Jameson a carefully edited version of events, or she would risk exposing Peter.

"Well?" said Jameson impatiently, "Then what?" A nervous Hoffman held the tape recorder closer to her lips, as if to hurry her along.

She took a deep breath. John tried to slip his arm around her shoulders, but she shrugged if off, trying to concentrate on just how to describe the way things had transpired in a believable and safe manner. "Spider-Man tore out this huge mass of electrical cables, bigger than he was, trying to shut down the reactor," she stated, shaking her head. "It didn't work, though, because the reaction was growing larger and larger – it looked like a small sun, maybe the size of a little house, by now. It was also incredibly hot, and it was sucking everything metal into it – the whole warehouse was imploding all around us. I was chained to a pipe and it nearly sucked me in – only Spider-Man caught me with a web and pulled me out." She heard John give a small gasp behind her, and turned to look at him, smiling gently at the obvious consternation in his face.

Then she thought for a moment again. Although she wanted to give Peter the whole credit for what had happened, she suddenly remembered Dr. Octavius's keen, intelligent face just before the end, and his determined stance as he strode down to his death. She owed it to him, for saving Peter's life, at least to mention his sacrifice as well. She continued more softly, "Spider-Man realized he couldn't stop the reaction that way, so he went to his enemy, who was lying stunned near the reactor, and he said, 'Tell me how to shut it down.' After that ... it was so amazing, but Spider-Man talked Dr. Octavius into stopping that mini-sun himself. At first, Dr. Octavius said, "It can't be stopped. It's self-sustaining." After that, though, they figured out together that it would have to be drowned in the river. Then Spider-Man turned to do it." MJ gave an involuntary shudder, and drew a ragged breath. Then she got hold of herself and continued, "but before he could, Octavius prevented him, and instead went to do it himself." She lifted defiant eyes back to Jameson's face, and finished quietly, "And that's how Spider-Man saved the city tonight."

Mr Jameson's face broke into a broad, jubilant smile, "I knew it! I knew they were working together!" he exulted. Amazed, MJ could only stare at him for a second. He had just heard the truth, he knew that Spider-Man was a hero, and he still wanted to interpret the events she had just related in his perverse way. What did it take to convince some people? Then she got mad again.

"Spider-Man is a hero," she said in a low, quivering voice. "He was the only one who could have stopped Octavius and he did. He shut down the reactor. When that didn't keep that mini-sun from continuing to grow, from consuming everything, he used his head: he convinced his enemy to help him. He would have given his life for this city ..." her voice broke "... but luckily he didn't have to, so he can, and will, continue to protect us. And that's what I want you to print."

"And what about you, Miss Watson?" said Jameson, his steely eyes resting on hers speculatively.

"Me?" said MJ, taken aback.

"Didn't he save you too?" Mr. Jameson asked, giving her a keen look from under iron-grey eyebrows. "What does this make, the third time he's saved your life?" She caught her breath, remembering her incautious words at that dinner party a few months ago, and took an inadvertent step backwards, bumping into John. But her questioner pursued her doggedly, commenting sardonically. "Spider-Man seems to have a _special_ interest in keeping you safe, Miss Watson."

For a second, MJ was paralyzed, and then she told herself desperately, _Wake up! You're an actress – **Act**!_ She feigned an amused smile and tossed her head. "What you are talking about? Spider-Man's saved thousands of people in this city."

"Not more than once, I'll wager," said Jameson shrewdly, still watching her face closely. "And not under such _interesting_ circumstances. A balcony full of executives are vaporized at the World Unity festival, but not _you_. The Green Goblin tries to throw _you _and a tram car of kids off the Queensboro bridge - then totally disappears. Today, Doc Ock grabs _you_ from a café and Spider-Man emerges from his month-long retreat, looking for him. Why did Ock kidnap you, anyway?"

"I don't know," said MJ faintly, reaching the unpleasant realization that she didn't have a plausible explanation for her capture at that very moment. Maybe she should have thought this plan to defend Spider-Man through more carefully. She pulled herself together. "Doc Ock – Dr. Octavius hardly talked to me. Instead he chained me up and forgot all about me while he worked on his machine. He probably just wanted a hostage."

Jameson opened his mouth, presumably to disabuse her of that foolish notion and to continue his pursuit of her, but his son stopped him. "That's enough questions for tonight, Dad," John Jameson said authoritatively. Hearing the distress in her voice, he slid a protective arm around her shoulders, and this time she allowed it to remain there. "I'm taking MJ to be checked out, and then home to sleep," he continued. "Any more questions you have can wait until tomorrow."

He started to steer her away from Jameson and Hoffman, toward the waiting police cars, but at the last moment MJ had a new thought and pulled away from her fiancé, turning back to face them.

"Just one more thing, Mr. Jameson," she added politely. "I'd like you to keep my name out of the story, please. I don't want countless news outlets or reporters calling me, looking for extra details, on the day before my wedding."

Jameson's mouth dropped open in outrage, but before he could say anything in response, he caught sight of his son folding his arms implacably beside MJ. Their eyes met over MJ's head, and then Jonah shut his mouth with a snap and growled, "Fine!"

John offered MJ his arm and she took it. As they walked back to the cars together she could hear Jonah Jameson ranting to Hoffman that he didn't know what this city was coming to, with freedom of the press disappearing and green hero-worshipping girls dictating the contents of news stories to seasoned newspaper editors.

She whispered, "Thanks for getting your dad off my back."

"Don't worry about it," John said in his easygoing way. He shrugged dismissively. "Dad's an old news hound, always imagining sensational stories everywhere. I don't know what he thought he was suggesting this time, though, that you're Spider-man's girlfriend?" He laughed in his easy manner. "Hilarious! Come to think of it, that'd be a pretty good story."

MJ gave him an unsmiling look, reflecting once again that her life had become totally surreal. John felt her scrutiny and turned to look affectionately down at her, giving her arm a little squeeze with the arm linked through it. "I'll tell you one thing, MJ" he said, winking at her. "You've finally convinced me that Spider-Man's a hero."

"Really?" she said, a little gratified. "How?"

"Anyone who saves your life even once – let alone three times – is a hero in my books," said John smiling warmly down into her face, "no matter what else he's supposed to have done." MJ squeezed his arm back gently, giving him a small, tremulous smile in return. John's sweet words were ever-so-slightly easing the ache in her heart and bringing the world back into focus. The night's incredible revelations had left her numb and shell-shocked. Now that her ordeal was over, and now that the adrenaline raised by her encounter with John's dad was also leaving her, she felt weak and shaky, uncertain of what to do next. She knew what Peter wanted her to do, or thought she did ... he'd given her another chance at life, not for himself but for her own sake. He wanted her to stay far away from him, to go and live happily – and safely – ever after with another man. And here was that good man, looking after her, trying to cheer her up, walking her to a car that would drive her to a hospital. She supposed she was walking off with John into the rest of her life. So why did it feel like an ending instead of a beginning?

End of Part V

_A/N: I don't really know where to go from here_ – _with MJ, I mean, not with the story. (Obviously, since I own the DVD, I've now seen the movie many times). Much as I like the scene with MJ as one more runaway bride in a long line of runaway movie brides, I've never really liked the fact that MJ leaves poor John standing at the altar with nothing but a note in his hand. So I'm not sure how to get MJ from dazed heartbreak to the realization that since she loves Peter and he loves her, she can't marry John. I guess I'm warning you that I don't have anything further_ _written_._ Consequently, I don't know when I'll be able to make another update. I hope you enjoyed this part, though!  
_


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I fully acknowledge that Spider-Man, MJ and nearly everything else about this fic is not mine, but belongs to a host of other, more creative people. _

_A/N: I apologize in advance for the fact that nothing much happens in this chapter. Think of it as another step on the way to the end. _

_Constructive criticism is most definitely appreciated._

Memories and Revelations

Part VI

MJ gazed morosely out of the window of the car in which she was riding. It had rained earlier in the evening, so that the dark street surfaces were still slick with water and glistening under the street lights. The pavement and concrete buildings had the shiny, otherworldly appearance that wet surfaces get on rainy nights, but MJ was too preoccupied to notice.

She had woken up that morning with the weirdest feeling in her chest – an unsettling combination of lightness and tension that she couldn't quite comprehend at first. As she sat up abruptly in bed, her heart had lifted in a brief burst of buoyancy and elation; then a cold chill had constricted it like a steel band. All at once, the events of the night before had flashed into her memory, causing everything fall into place, and bringing with them familiar feelings of loss.

After that, all day, MJ tried unsuccessfully to wrap her mind around the amazing revelation of the previous night. It was not that it was so shocking – she'd pretty much come to the conclusion that, on some level, she had always known that Peter and Spider-Man were one and the same. No, the problem was that her conscious embracing of this new knowledge had re-oriented her whole world. As a result, she had become preoccupied by a desire to examine all the events of the last two years from this new, intriguing angle. And some interesting insights were emerging ...

"Nearly there," John interjected, glancing over at her. She barely heard him and didn't bother to acknowledge his words.

At the moment, John was driving her to their rehearsal party at his parents' house. It was nearly eleven and MJ wished she could go home and go to bed instead. It had been a long day. In the afternoon she'd attended her own wedding rehearsal, then she had given her last play performance as Mary Jane Watson. But all day everything seemed strangely off-kilter. Take this evening's performance, for instance, – one of the strangest she'd ever given. Overnight, the formerly shallow, coquettish Cecily had undergone a transformation, appearing deeply in love from the moment of meeting Algernon and even becoming quietly heartbroken in Act II at the threatened departure of her new love. Her cast-mates had looked a little askance at her after that scene and MJ wondered distractedly whether the portrayal had gone too far. Her wounded Cecily had probably stood out from the rest of Wilde's polished veneer like an open sore.

Presently, MJ was thinking about her first kiss with Peter, on another rainy night much like this one. Her favorite comfort technique, reliving it, was less satisfying now that she knew that it wasn't some masked stranger who had been her partner in that perfect kiss. No, now it had become part of the mystery of Peter Parker. She still remembered it as vividly as ever, but my, didn't it assume a whole new puzzling aspect when she also recalled her conversation with Peter just a few minutes before they'd met in the alley?

_"Hey!" She turned around to see Peter Parker running up to her, an eager smile on his cute, familiar face. Wow, was it ever good to see a friendly face right now, especially after her humiliating rejection at the audition just minutes ago. _

_"Hi!" she beamed. Peter looked really good in a deep blue shirt that set off his eyes perfectly ... but what was he doing here? _

_"How was the audition?" Peter was asking, an eager, interested expression on his face. Caught completely off guard by his question, by the whole unexpected meeting, MJ asked incredulously, "How did you know?" _

_Peter shrugged diffidently. "The hotline. Your mom told my aunt told me." He grinned._

_MJ almost couldn't believe her ears. Had Peter really traveled across the city solely to see how her audition went? She suddenly felt incredibly warm and happy. When she'd told Harry last night that she was going to an audition today, he had said, "That's great. I'm sure you'll get it, babe," and then gone straight back to nuzzling her neck. His perfunctory encouragement hadn't felt encouraging at all. But now here was Peter, a long way from the lower East Side loft that he and Harry shared in Manhattan. He looked genuinely interested, and the fact that he was standing here before her on a dark city street proved that he must be. Her smile grew just a little bit wider. "And you came all the way down here?" she asked, still marveling._

_Peter shrugged again, obviously trying to act nonchalant. She noticed that he looked a little tired and pale. "I was in the neighborhood; I needed to see a friendly face," he said casually, and his deep blue eyes smiled back into hers._

_I know the feeling, thought MJ, still staring at him in wonder. Peter apparently feared that she didn't believe his story, because he continued. "I took two buses and a cab to get in the neighborhood," he confessed in a rush, a slightly sheepish smile covering his face._

_They both laughed a little together, and there was a pause. MJ found herself feeling a tiny inward thrill at the sight of him. It was amazing how good Peter could make her feel about herself whenever he was around. One smile from him seemed to have more of an effect than all the CDs, the pretty jewellery, the Gucci watches or the perfume which Harry liked to shower on her. Incredibly, just the fact that Peter had realized how important this audition was to her was already taking the sting out of how badly it had gone, how rude they had been to her back there. Somehow she felt he would understand._

_"So, how did it go?" Peter was asking her with interest. It was almost as though he had picked up on her thoughts._

_MJ sighed and looked down. No use pretending it was anything other than it had been – a complete travesty. "They said I needed acting lessons," she admitted. Maybe she really wasn't cut out to be an actress after all. She was young and inexperienced, as they'd said, and the rejections stung so badly ... _

_Peter just looked at her, and MJ found herself inexplicably heartened by the earnest expression on his face. On the other hand, maybe this rejection, for a part she hadn't really wanted anyway, was simply a bump in the road. She smirked inwardly at herself for her melodramatic turnaround. _

_Then, aloud, she said ruefully, and a little self-mockingly, "A _soap opera_ said I needed acting lessons." She laughed a bright, tinkly little laugh, and Peter laughed with her. He seemed to be laughing simply because she was laughing, which made MJ feel even better. _

_"Let me buy you a cheeseburger," he offered unexpectedly. "The sky's the limit ..." he pretended to think "... up to 7 dollars and 84 cents."_

_She laughed again at Peter's self-deprecating joke. Peter's good humor about his lack of money was a nice change from the way that Harry was always throwing money around, accidentally discovering in the process that most ice cream parlors, pizza joints, convenience stores, and movie theaters couldn't change 50 and 100 bills. Spending some time with Peter, just hanging out, was starting to sound like an appealing plan. _

_Then she remembered that she and Harry had a standing dinner date most evenings, unless something came up and she called to cancel in the afternoon. She groaned. "I can't," she said apologetically. "I'm going out to dinner with Harry." This prospect was less attractive, especially as she watched Peter's expressive face fall. Here he'd journeyed across Manhattan to see her, either to cheer her up or to celebrate with her, and she was ducking out on him to be with his best friend. She wanted suddenly to make it better. "Come with us," she invited him sincerely. _

_"No, thanks," Peter responded quickly, in such a subdued voice that she could hardly hear him. Then he asked her a surprising question. "How's that going – with you and Harry?"_

_In the back of her mind, MJ was surprised. She couldn't recall the last time Peter had asked her such a personal question. Throughout their high school acquaintance, even though they had talked occasionally across the fence dividing their backyards, he had never once asked about her boyfriends. _

_All of a sudden, MJ wished she could talk to him about Harry. She was truly interested in the perspective of Harry's best friend. Harry was sweet, but he was so needy_ –_ he always seemed hungry somehow. He never said out loud that he was of course, but she felt the pressure of his unspoken needs lurking in the background whenever they were together. He constantly bought her expensive presents, yes, but she was starting to feel that these unwanted gifts weren't given freely, that they demanded something of her, something she was unsure that she could give. Harry also gave her voracious kisses, kisses she had at first thought were passionate. Lately, though, they only made her feel uncomfortable and self-conscious. She sensed that these kisses too expected something from her ... something that, in this case, she definitely didn't want to give. _

_And Harry spent an awful lot of time tied up in knots about his ever-absent father – talking about him, blaming him, worrying about his opinion, seeking his approval and attention. She looked down and sighed. She had thought she was an expert on troubled relationships with one's dad, thanks to her own father's alternating cold and hot, neglectful or occasionally harsh behavior towards her, the result of his obvious but unacknowledged drinking problem. But Harry's tormented feelings about his father had given her a whole new perspective on dysfunctional father-child relationships. _

_Unfortunately, the trouble with trying to talk about Harry, even with a good friend like Peter, was that there was so much to say that it was hard to know where to begin. She was casting about for the right opening, when suddenly she was jerked back to reality as Peter, apparently misunderstanding her hesitation, said quietly, "I'm sorry. That's none of my business."_

Peter Parker, you are such a mystery_, MJ thought, wrinkling her brow. Here he was backing away from a subject about which he clearly had a keen interest, acting like it wasn't important. Well, she was sceptical, especially considering Peter's long-standing crush on her. She wondered all at once what it would take to get Peter to admit that he had romantic feelings for her._

_MJ looked at Peter with mischief in her eyes. Coquettishly, she asked, "Why so interested?" Actually, if she told the truth, she was more than a little interested herself in Peter's reaction. Maybe it was because she was genuinely touched that Peter would go so far out of his way to encourage her after a lousy audition. Or maybe she was becoming spellbound by those incredibly warm blue eyes, looking more vivid than ever above his dark blue shirt._

_Peter didn't seem able to tear his captivated gaze from her face either. He tried stalling her instead by saying, "I'm not."_

_Now that was a lie, and MJ wanted Peter to see that she knew it was. More intrigued than ever by his continued diffidence, she decided to cut that route of retreat off with another roguish question, "You're not?" She smiled coyly at Peter, arching an eyebrow in her best flirtatious manner,_ _her eyes dancing with hidden mirth. Her teasing manner was becoming ever-so-subtly enticing, creating an intimacy that hadn't been there a moment ago._

_His eyes fixed on hers, Peter responded awkwardly, "Why would I be?"__MJ watched with a deep satisfaction, out of all proportion to the innocuous subject of their conversation, as he visibly swallowed and began to look increasingly nervous_. _However much he might deny it, he was clearly interested and very off-balance, all because of her._

_"I don't know, Peter. Why would you be?" she challenged lightly, upping the ante even further. Somewhere along the way she knew she had moved away from teasing and into outright flirtation, but she didn't care. He was too cute for words, and she found that all of a sudden she had a burning interest in the outcome of their conversation. _

_"I ..." Peter hesitated and MJ awaited his next words eagerly. "I don't know," he finally said._ _She sighed. Maybe it wasn't fair to expect Peter to admit to having a romantic interest in his best friend's girlfriend. And this wasn't the time or the place for a heart-to-heart with her boyfriend's roommate, either. "Sorry you won't come with us," said MJ at last, a little surprised by how genuinely sorry she was._

_The two of them looked at each other for a moment in silence, and MJ thought that Peter's face looked almost ... disappointed? The moment was broken as rain began falling. "I better run, Tiger," she said, throwing one last flirtatious smile over her shoulder for good measure as she hurried away ..._

Thinking back, MJ remembered her disappointment at Peter's hesitation. She had thought at the time that he was withdrawing from her because he was typically shy or uncertain of his feelings. Now, though, she knew that this conversation had resulted in a far more dramatic outcome. Instead of retreating, Peter had rescued her just a few seconds later, and then had finally responded to her subtle invitation by giving her an unforgettably passionate kiss in the rain. Well, actually, she had kissed him ... but he had kissed her back, all wild and deep, without any hesitation. And what an eye-opening kiss it was. Not only had it woken up a passionate girl inside of her – a girl she had never dreamed existed – but it had given her a really useful reference point as well.

Afterwards, she had perceived that Harry's kisses were full of desperation, not passion. She had walked out of that alley a changed woman, a woman with a much clearer understanding of her feelings, a woman longing to be with someone who truly loved her, who could give and not just take all the time. She'd even thought briefly that she had fallen in love with Spider-Man, possibly the most giving person around. Of course, it was Peter all the time – Peter whom she'd desired, dreamed of, looked for in the city's heights. Maybe the truth was that she had recognized Peter deep down inside, and had fallen in love with him that night. Or maybe she had already been falling in love with him for a while, and that kiss had merely brought her feelings into clear focus for the first time. Peter had a knack for bringing clarity with him. Whenever they were together, he would inadvertently show MJ facets of herself which she hadn't dreamed could exist.

And what about Peter, what had he been feeling that night? she wondered. One minute he'd been dodging and fielding her hints, refusing her unspoken invitation, and the next moment, a moment surely of high emotion after his second rescue of her, he had given into a long-suppressed impulse and kissed her. She wondered if Peter felt able to do things as Spider-Man that he couldn't do in ordinary life. No, she thought impatiently, that couldn't be it. Or if it had been so then, it clearly wasn't any more. Peter had pushed her out of his life for nearly two years, and even last night, while holding her in his arms on the crane, he had pulled back from kissing her a third time and then pushed her away from him again. Yes, it was an amazing revelation that Peter loved her, but why did she still have the feeling that she was missing something? What was the mystery that she still hadn't grasped?

She closed her eyes, leaning her head against the car window and remembering the overwhelming feeling of Peter's arms holding her suspended high over the city. She had melted into him, but his muscles, except for a brief second when she'd made him smile, had been so tense. It was almost as though he couldn't relax, she realized. Was it because he was afraid? But what could the Amazing Spider-Man be afraid of? She tried to puzzle it out ... he couldn't be afraid of dropping her, since he had borne up her entire weight with just one hand – heck, he could probably do it with one finger. After the closeness they had shared while he held the warehouse wall off of her, he couldn't be afraid that she would reject him. He was definitely afraid of something, though, she thought, wrinkling her brow. Afraid of losing her? But he had just rescued her.

She opened her eyes, and with the part of her mind that wasn't occupied in looking sightlessly at the wet city streets and the lights streaking past, MJ ruminated once again on the words Peter had spoken to her up on the web. As soon as she told him that she'd always known who he really was, he had assumed that she would understand that they couldn't ever be together. Just because he was Spider-Man. He'd acted as though that was sufficient reason. "_Then you know why we can't be together,_" he'd said. "_I can't let you take that risk_." A tiny spark of anger and stubbornness flared briefly inside of her. What if she didn't want to be safe – what if she wanted "to take that risk?" Why had it been necessary for Peter to sacrifice their happiness for nearly two years? Why was he still doing it? He certainly hadn't done so out of a lack of love, she thought, but maybe, just maybe, the Amazing Spider-Man was, for once, a little lacking in courage.

They were drawing up to a traffic light, its lights shifting, green, yellow, red: yes, wait, no.

Suddenly, MJ remembered the look of tender determination on Peter's face as they hung high over the docks together on his web. Mystified, she had thought until this moment that he was pushing her away _despite_ his love ... but what if he was pushing her away _because _of it? Something shifted in her brain and she caught her breath. The depth of his love was once again taking her breath away. She'd known what was fuelling Peter's determination when he'd held that wall off her, but why hadn't she recognized it when she saw it again shortly afterward? Peter loved her far more than she'd realized, so much that he was willing to give her up. _She _was the reason he was able to argue so passionately and persuasively to Otto Octavius that sometimes, to do the right thing, it was necessary to give up a dream ...

"You're awfully quiet tonight," John's voice broke the silence.

"Just thinking, I guess," MJ said somberly. She regarded her soon-to-be husband thoughtfully for a moment. "John," she said at last, "Why do you love me?"

"What kind of question is that?" John asked with an awkward laugh. "I just do." He stopped his car at the light and turned toward her.

"Try to give me an answer," she coaxed. "Please. I really want to know."

"Uh ..." John appeared to be thinking hard. "There's no one else like you ... You get this faraway look sometimes, like you're thinking of a beautiful secret." He smiled. "Or sometimes you look mysteriously sad. That's it, I think ... You're my woman of mystery."

"How poetic," said MJ, sincerely touched. She fell silent, her eyes downcast. Unfortunately, she was a woman of mystery, even to herself. If someone had asked her, she couldn't have told what she was feeling at this moment. She didn't have a clue.

John was watching her closely, a serious expression on his face. "What's up?" he asked at last.

MJ came back from wherever it was she had gone. "Nothing," she said, affecting a nonchalant expression.

"You've been really quiet since the kidnapping," said John, easing the car forward again. "I guess I'm just wondering what's going on inside you."

MJ sighed, nervously twisting her diamond ring on her finger. "I'm wondering too." She looked over at her fiancé and gave him a plaintive smile. "When I figure it out, I promise that you will be the first to know."

John thought for a minute, and then said bluntly. "Thanks, but that's not good enough. We're getting married tomorrow afternoon, and I really want to know what's going on in your head."

MJ looked at him with new eyes. "I thought you liked me to be your woman of mystery," she remarked.

"Oh, I do," John said, grinning at her. "I'd just like few clues now and then."

She struggled to find the words. "I guess ... you know ... when you almost die, it really makes you take stock of your life. You start asking yourself all these questions: 'Who am I? What am I doing with my life? Am I where I want to be?' It happened to me once before, when I was thrown off the Queensboro bridge and nearly died."

"And did you find any answers to your questions then?" asked John.

"I thought I did," MJ said, and sighed. "But ... it didn't work out."

"And what about now?" John inquired.

MJ thought she detected a hint of fear lurking in his voice and felt a pang of pity for him as she considered his question. "I ... I don't have the answer yet." She shook her head and raised her eyes to his. "I'm sorry."

John was quiet. Then he said with forced cheerfulness. "But you'll tell me when you do."

She smiled fondly at him, and squeezed his arm warmly. "I'll tell you the_ second_ I do."

They pulled up in front of John's parents' huge house, and John got out of the car to open her door for her. As he gave her his hand to assist her out of his seat, MJ once more had the strange, unsettled feeling that nothing was quite real. They walked in silence up the front steps, and John opened the ornate glass and wood front door for her. As soon as he did, they were swept inside a maelstrom of voices, music, and bright lights. John's mother had really gone all out, as usual.

"It's the happy couple," a voice announced, and they were surrounded on all sides by smiling faces.

One aggressively cheerful one pushed its way forward through the crowd: "MJ, dear, you look lovely," gushed John's mother, taking MJ by the shoulders with her immaculately manicured hands, and placing two air kisses in the approximate vicinity of MJ's cheeks. "So very old-fashioned, almost rustic. It's adorable." MJ was wearing a simple, floral print dress and minimal make up; however, she hadn't been trying to look rustically adorable – it was simply that anything else had seemed like too much of an effort.

"Thank you," she said quietly. The press of people was carrying her inexorably away from John, whom she glimpsed being slapped on the back by one of his groomsmen. He looked over at her and shrugged with a rueful smile. Again MJ experienced an odd, dreamlike sensation while she looked around at the crowded front hallway, the people sipping drinks and leaning on the heavy wooden stair railing of the spiral staircase, the people milling about in doorways. She felt as though she were wading through molasses. "This seems like quite a party," she commented, looking back to John's mother in an attempt to keep her grip on reality. Everything appeared to be moving in slow motion.

"Absolutely everyone is here," beamed Joan Jameson. "Your wedding is going to be the biggest spring wedding this year."

"Is my mother here?" asked MJ, feeling suddenly tired and needing very much to see a well-known face. She'd called her mom briefly before going to bed the previous night, and a tearful, happy Madeline Watson had entreated her to come home for lunch, just so that she could be in the same room with her safely returned daughter for a little while. "Indulge a frantic mother," Madeline Watson had begged. "You almost died, honey ... I only want to touch you, hug you, see for myself that you're all right." But MJ had simply been too busy with last minute wedding details – getting her nails done, having a last fitting of her dress (which was unnecessary, since it fit perfectly and had done so from the first time she had tried it on), and, with John, inspecting the huge mountain of gifts that had started arriving at the house. Now she felt guilty about telling her mother that she didn't have the time to stop by, especially when she had somehow found time to read seven different newspaper accounts of Spider-Man's feats from the day before.

"Oh, yes, that reminds me – she's been asking for you," said Joan. "The last time I saw her she was over at the drinks table with your father." She pointed MJ through a large archway off the front hall, which led, MJ knew, into one of the two enormous, capacious living rooms that the house boasted.

MJ squeezed her way through the doorway, wondering again why there were so many people here. She thought rehearsal parties were only supposed to be for members of the wedding party and the immediate family. Obviously, John's mother had a very loose definition of immediate family. Surveying the room of strangers, MJ had the peculiar sensation that she was looking at the world from behind a warped glass wall. To make matters worse, she could hear that a little knot of people nearby were discussing the train accident and the fusion reaction in hushed, wondering tones. This subject, which only served to heighten her feelings of unreality, was the last one that MJ wanted to hear about at the moment.

She felt relieved when she spotted her parents standing against the wall behind the drinks table, looking unusually small and out of place among all the people. MJ could tell that her mother was monitoring her dad's drinking with a practiced eye, but even the normally brash Philip Watson seemed subdued. He looked as if he didn't quite know what to do with the expensive champagne in his glass. They caught sight of her, and Madeline Watson's face lit up. She charged through the crowd.

Engulfed in a tight hug, MJ could only manage, "Hi, Mom."

"My little girl!" said Madeline, her voice rather choked up. MJ squeezed her back gently, and then Madeline released her, hastily wiping her eyes with trembling hands. "Sorry," she said apologetically. "I've been on this roller-coaster for the last two days, and I'm still a bit weepy."

"It's okay, Mom." said MJ, smiling. "I know how you feel. Where's Dad?"

"Oh, he's over there," her mother said, half turning and gesturing toward the wall. "He's a little out of sorts at having to get dressed up and come to such a swanky do." She lowered her voice. "Don't worry. I won't let him do anything to embarrass you."

MJ said sincerely, "It doesn't matter. I think I'm becoming immune. But thank you, Mom." Looking into Madeline Watson's wan but smiling face, she appreciated her mother anew. She was a strong, capable woman, who had given up her dreams of becoming a Broadway actress when it had become clear that MJ's father was unwilling or unable to keep steady work. She'd managed to make a life for herself and her daughter. After working as a hairdresser on the side for years while a struggling actress, she had resourcefully started her own hair salon business from scratch and made it thrive. Madeline Watson, who had always worked hard to make sure that MJ could follow her own dreams, was the first person to teach MJ the meaning of dedicated self-sacrifice. Even now that she was sick, and completely worn out from her first round of chemo treatments three weeks earlier, she was still taking care of MJ in small ways.

"So are you all ready for tomorrow?" Madeline Watson was asking, while scanning her daughter's face a little uncertainly.

"Everything's done at last, and all John and I have left to do is just show up at the church," said MJ with a faint smile. She felt another stab of guilt at brushing her mom off earlier. "Listen, Mom, I'm really sorry that I couldn't make it for lunch today. I know you must have been out of your mind with worry and ..."

"It's fine, sweetie. Anna kept me company all day yesterday during that terrifying time, and today May Parker came over for a nice, long visit." Her mother gave her a weary smile. "I don't know what I am going to do after she moves."

MJ blinked, and the glass wall seemed to recede a little bit. "Aunt May is moving?"

"Didn't you know?"

"No, I didn't," said MJ, inwardly reeling a little in shock. As long as she could remember May Parker had been nearby, welcoming her with her lovely smile and her gracious manner. She wasn't sure she liked the idea of Aunt May being gone, partly for the elderly lady's own sake, because she was so nice, and partly because ... well, there would be no more dropping in for refreshing, impromptu chats when she was home visiting her mother, no more gleaning little tidbits of information about Peter from his aunt, no more hoping against hope for the chance that she might actually bump into him at his aunt's someday ...

"I thought Peter might have mentioned it to you. He was over a few days ago, you know, helping her pack." Her mom shook her head, laughing a little. "He certainly has grown up. You know how your high-school friends used to call him ‛Puny Parker'? Well, May is donating some of her extra furniture to charity and from the bedroom window, I saw Peter, all by himself, dragging this big, old, heavy desk out of the garage for her, then around the house to the front lawn to be picked up."

MJ was hardly listening, thinking instead about what her life was going to look like with even less Peter in it.

"She's moving because the bank was foreclosing, and she wanted to leave with a little dignity ..." Madeline Watson's voice trailed off. She looked anxiously at her daughter. "Are you okay, Mary Jane? You look about a thousand miles away."

"Oh ... yeah, I'm alright." MJ forced a bright smile onto her face. "Just tired. It's been a really long day."

Madeline Watson looked at her daughter as though she very much wanted to say something. But she seemed to check herself, and patted MJ on the arm instead. "Go find John and tell him you need to go home early. It's not lucky for a bride to see her husband after midnight on the wedding day anyway."

"Maybe I will," said MJ. She hugged her mom again. "You'll meet me at the church tomorrow afternoon at two, to help me with my dress?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." said Madeline, returning the hug. "I'll tell your father you had to go and get your beauty rest. Go on, now."

MJ wandered back through the doorway of the vast living room, but John seemed to have disappeared from the vestibule. She overheard his father at the other end of the hallway, pontificating to a couple of city officials about how they needed to find some way to hold Spider-Man accountable for all the property damage he was always causing. In an attempt to avoid his notice, she ducked into the opposite living room and tried to get her bearings. Distractedly twisting her ring on her finger, she wondered if this was going to be her life from now on, wandering through crowded parties feeling as though she wasn't entirely there.

Inevitably, as it always did when she was alone, her mind returned to Peter, to the breathtaking realization she had arrived at in the car. It seemed that the depth of Peter's love for her was only matched by his fear. Or perhaps the two fed each other. If that was so, no wonder Peter had seemed paralyzed most of the time when she'd tried to reach out to him. He couldn't – or wouldn't – tell her the most important secret of his life, but he couldn't bring himself to let go of her completely either. Her mind wandered back to another party ...

_MJ was shivering even though John had just loaned her his overcoat. Somehow, seeing Peter at the Planetarium tonight, the last place where she'd expected to see him again, had thrown her completely off balance and shattered her earlier good mood. The memory of catching sight of Peter in the crowd and feeling the same inexplicable connection to him that she had always felt, was making her at once desperately angry and painfully vulnerable. It felt like a raw wound, just scabbing over, had been roughly torn open again. If only there was a way to stop the pain ... _

_Lost in thought, she didn't even notice Peter approaching her cautiously from behind. "Hi," he said timidly._

_She started at the sound of his greeting, but then she quickly got hold of herself and turned around to face him. The pain and anger she was fighting gave a sharp edge to her voice. "Oh ... you."_

_Peter's face was clenched and unhappy. Wide blue eyes appealed to her as he tried to apologize, voice cracking with emotion. "I'm sorry about the other night. There was..." She didn't want to him to continue; she couldn't stand to hear any more of his excuses, "...a disturbance ..." _

_Oh, brother. This one was even worse than the lame usher excuse that he'd tried to leave on her answering machine the day before. Who was this guy who was so cavalier with her feelings?_

_"I don't know you," MJ interrupted in a brittle voice. Then her face crumpled as she fought the tears rising in her throat and gathering in her eyes. His face had blanched, but she ignored him, choking out more hurtful words, "And I can't keep thinking about you. It's too painful." Great, now she felt as though she were pleading with him, begging him to stop the harm she was feeling. How pathetic. _

_An unpleasant silence strained between them. She could see Peter's distress as he cast about for something to say to soothe her, but she was hurting too much to care. "I've been reading poetry," he said suddenly._

_What on earth was he talking about? MJ thought in annoyance. She didn't have the energy to puzzle out Peter's riddles tonight; she was rapidly running out of patience. She responded to his cryptic remark with exasperation. "Whatever that means," she said, disdainfully rolling her eyes. _

_"Day by day he gazed upon her," Peter was saying earnestly. His eyes had a liquid sheen to them. "Day by day he sighed with passion. Day by day..."_

_Was he mocking her? "Don't start," MJ said testily. She was getting dangerously close to losing her temper. _

_Peter blinked and tried again. "Uh ... can I get you a drink?"_

_When was he going to get the message? "I'm with John," MJ snapped. "He'll get me my drink." Now her temper was barely hanging by a thread. _

_"John," Peter repeated blankly. He looked stunned. MJ felt her brows knitting together as adrenalin spiked throughout her system. How dare he look like that – how dare he look so crestfallen, so heartbroken for heaven's sake, when _he_ had rejected _her_ - no, not only that, when he had consistently refused to be a part of her life, as recently as two nights ago._

_Suddenly MJ was so angry that nothing was going to keep her from giving Peter a well-deserved, long-overdue piece of her mind. "By the way," she said, her voice shaking a little with suppressed anger. "John has seen my show five times. Harry has seen it twice. Aunt May has seen it. My sick mother dragged herself out of bed to see it. Even my dad ..." _

_She faltered for a second, her dad's total lack of interest in her life a very sore spot, as always. He'd brought her mom and her Auntie Anna to the theater, had the nerve to show up backstage before the curtain to borrow money from her, and had then gone out with his buddies instead of staying for her performance. For reasons obscure even to herself, in a split second decision, she chose not to varnish the truth. "He came backstage to borrow cash," she admitted candidly, her mouth twisting wryly. Wait a minute ... why was she telling Peter this, anyway? _

_She re-focused on what she'd wanted to say to him for two days now. "But my best friend, who cares _so_ much about me, can't even make an eight o'clock curtain. After all these years ..." She felt her voice catch "... he's nothing to me but an empty seat."_

_There was nothing else to say. She walked resolutely away before the hot angry tears that were threatening to fall could get the chance. But they still blinded her, blurring the crowded balcony in front of her, and turning the streetlights into watery streaks of light against the black sky. She was trying to make a rapid beeline for the ladies' room in order to collect herself, but she wasn't looking where she was going, so naturally she crashed headlong into a tall form, nearly bowling him over. _

_"Whoa, steady there." Gentle hands took hold of her elbows and stopped her in place. She looked up into John's smiling face. "Where are you going at top speed?"_

_MJ forced her grief down, smoothing out her expression. She regarded her boyfriend closely. Good, strong, dependable John. He was always there for her – and she suspected he always would be. It was time to grow up, to put an end to his suspense. He'd been waiting patiently for over a month now for MJ to make up her mind, and she finally knew what she wanted. She wanted someone who would love her, someone who would be around when she needed him, someone who would make her forget her pain. John was all of those things and more. "Looking for you, actually," she answered him with a smile. _

_"Well, you found me," said John, offering her his arm and leading her back through the glass door. Once inside, he helped her take off his coat, then said teasingly, "What are you going to do with me now that you've got me?" _

_"Keep you," MJ__ said_, _giving him a long, steady look, a hint of promise in her smile._

MJ winced as she remembered her hard words to Peter at that party. Why had she said such cold, unforgiving things to him? How they must have stabbed into him! If only he had told her, if only he had trusted her with the truth ... she would never have been so angry about Peter missing a little play performance, if she had known that he was out saving someone's life, or battling Doc Ock, or catching a criminal.

She thought too about her own feelings of anger and pain that night. She should have recognized then that she still loved Peter. Of course, it was only because she loved him that his continued rejection of her, what she'd thought was his apparent indifference, had wounded her so deeply. No wonder she'd run away from him, looking for John to make it all better, to make it go away. She grimaced at the unwelcome realization that she'd gotten engaged to one man in an effort to forget another. Talk about a rebound.

Then it occurred to her that Peter, in trying to keep her safe, hadn't given much thought to her feelings, and, all at once, she was full of righteous indignation. He wanted to keep her safe from harm, but so far, he had unwittingly been the cause of the greatest harm she'd ever experienced, harm which had come from the thought that the man she loved didn't love her back. Fears from childhood had risen up inside of her, fears that she was unlovable, fears she'd had to live with and strive to overcome for months. Knowing that Peter loved her after all eased that particular hurt, but the knowledge that he hadn't trusted her with the truth was now bothering her almost as much. Did he think she was a child? Standing there unseen in midst of the crowded party, MJ felt an angry desire to force Peter out of hiding, a strong need to confront him, a passionate compulsion to make him acknowledge _her_ feelings ...

But what did she think she was she doing? She was getting married to John tomorrow, and she owed it to him to stop thinking about another man. She had to put him first and move on with her life. Sighing, MJ forced herself to quit playing with her ring, and went to find her fiancé.

End of Part VI

_A/N: Thank you to the readers who have stuck with this interminable fic. There's only the wedding day and the reunion between MJ and Peter left to write, so hopefully it won't go on too much longer. Review, please, and tell me what you think! Suggestions are also welcome.  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: The characters and events of Spider-Man 2 belong to Marvel, Sony and a large number of other people. I am not one of them, and I am not making gobs of money off Spider-Man, either. This story is only for fun._

_A/N: I apologize for the length of this chapter. I had a lot of ideas I wanted to explore, and then when I was done I had this monster chapter, which didn't seem to have a natural split in it anywhere. It should probably be revised and trimmed, but I don't have time at the moment. So here it is in its entirety. Enjoy! Please review too, if you get the chance – I love feedback. _

Memories and Revelations

Part VII

MJ was having her hair done. It was an hour before her wedding, and her mother, looking attractive and only a little pale in a purple silk wedding suit and a matching feathered hat, was deftly twining her auburn hair into an elegant French chignon. Wrapped in a fluffy white robe, MJ watched her mom work from her chair before a large, oval mirror. They were in the elegant white changing room that the Cathedral provided for the use of its brides. MJ abstractedly followed her mother's hands with her eyes as they skilfully coiled, arranged and pinned her hair in place. Only Madeline Watson could fasten hairpins in such a way that they disappeared entirely from sight. Then MJ sighed, feeling almost completely detached from reality, and looked away from her reflection in the mirror. She felt as though she was above the scene, viewing everything – herself, her mom, the room, the dress hanging neatly in its plastic from a hook on the back of the door – from a great height. What was wrong with her? She was sure that a bride should be more fully present on her wedding day. She shifted unhappily in her chair.

"Please sit still, Mary Jane," said her mother, sounding a little like she had all those years ago when a small MJ would get her hair cut at her mom's salon in the evening after it had closed. "I don't think I've ever seen you so fidgety," Madeline went on. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Mom," MJ said patiently. "I told you. I didn't sleep very well yesterday night." This was at least partly true. MJ had tossed and turned all night, drifting in and out of fitful dozes, which were marked by unsettling and nearly forgotten dreams of wandering through huge, empty offices full of furniture looking for something, or swimming in deep, dark and grey oceans trying to find land. The final dream had been the most disturbing of all: she'd been at the rehearsal party from the night before, wandering through the endless densely populated and congested rooms looking for someone – John, perhaps? – when she'd come upon a mirror at the end of a corridor and stood in front of it, only to discover that she had no reflection. It occurred to her now that, in the last dream, she'd been looking for herself – looking and apparently not finding, if the mirror was any indication. Of course, it was only a dream.

Anyway, her restless sleep was not the reason she was so uncomfortable now. A small knot, like a nameless fear, was gathering in her stomach. Of course, that knot might also have something to do with the fact that she'd had no appetite all day. She'd barely even managed to choke down a piece of toast that morning, she was such a bundle of nerves. Staring at her expressionless, almost empty face in the mirror, MJ thought that she didn't look much like a bride on her wedding day. Maybe the transformation into a bride would happen when she put on the wedding dress, but she was starting to wonder. She shifted again slightly and looked down at her ring, twisting it around her finger to make it catch the light.

"Pre-wedding jitters, huh?" said Madeline Watson very quietly, meeting her daughter's eyes in the mirror.

"Something like that" said MJ, trying for a smile. MJ liked to think of herself as a strong person, a survivor like her mother. But she had to admit that she felt very weak at the moment – confused, detached from herself and all at sea. The feeling was reminding her disturbingly of her weakest moment so far in her life. MJ never liked thinking about it much, possibly because she'd always had the unsettling feeling that she had missed an opportunity somewhere, but it returned unbidden to her mind, as memories were wont to do ...

_MJ looked over at Peter, all alone at his uncle's grave. He was standing perfectly straight, but his back looked tense, as if he was keeping himself upright only by force of will. She took a deep breath and started to approach him. She wanted to comfort him, but she also had something very important to say to him, something that she hoped would lift his spirits and make him forget whatever trouble was winding him up to that tight pitch._

_When she drew near, Peter turned around slowly, as if sensing her proximity. The look in his eyes was the stunned, bewildered look of a lost little boy who couldn't quite comprehend the extent of the distress encompassing him. It smote her to the heart, and before she knew it, she was smiling tenderly and holding out her arms to him._

_He came into them at once, holding her close and warm against him, a deep sigh escaping him as his arms enfolded her. MJ held onto him equally tightly, closing her eyes in bliss. Peter's body pressed against hers, lean, hard and strong, and his embrace felt so good, so right, so familiar that she couldn't help but savor it for a moment. He drew in a long breath, his chest vibrating against hers, and she felt the tension in her own breast start to ease, her feelings unfurling and her heart lifting. She hoped that her hug was soothing Peter's raw emotions in the same way, and searched for the right words to assuage his sorrow a little more. _

_"You must miss him so much," MJ said softly. She put a gloved hand caressingly on the back of his head, stroking his hair. _

_"It's been so hard without him," Peter assented, his voice breaking. His hands pressed her a little closer into him, as if to draw every ounce of comfort from her embrace that he could get. MJ felt so much compassion for him that she didn't know how to articulate it. First orphaned at a young age, Peter had next lost his beloved uncle, as true a father to him as his real father had been – and he'd lost him in the most shocking and violent way possible. She wanted, she needed, to make it better ..._

_"There's something I've been wanting to tell you," MJ said, pulling back to look into his eyes, with a gentle, hopeful smile illumining her face. He was so inexpressibly dear to her at that moment, that MJ could scarcely believe that she hadn't always loved him. _

_"When I was up there ... when I thought I was going to die ..." Her voice shaking, she struggled to find the right words to convey the wonderful truth she had suddenly grasped in the midst of the awfulness that was her experience on the bridge "... there was only one person I was thinking of." MJ remembered clutching at Spider-Man's taut, stretched-out form, high above the water, and realizing unexpectedly that her biggest regret was that she would never again gaze upon Peter Parker, never hold him in her arms, never tell him ... "And it wasn't who I thought it would be," she went on tremulously. She put a hand on his shoulder, and smiled a smile that seemed to reached all the way down to her soul. "It was you, Pete."_

_Peter's eyebrows drew in together as he looked at her with genuine puzzlement in his blue eyes._

_MJ reached up and caressed his cheek with her gloved hand, wishing all at once that she could feel his skin. She spoke earnestly, saying, "I kept thinking, 'I hope I make it through this...'" Wanting to touch him, she kept her hand resting lightly on his cheek, and smiled wider to keep the tears that were rising close to the surface at bay "'... so I can see Peter Parker's face one more time.'" _

_"Really?" Peter asked, in a soft, vulnerable voice, the light of wonder breaking in his eyes. A small smile played over his mouth, making him look boyishly innocent and eager for a minute. He seemed to be hanging on her every word._

_She nodded happily, starting to lose the battle to hold back her tears. A few gathered, shimmering in her eyes and giving everything a hazy, glistening appearance. "There's only one man," she said seriously, "who's always been there for me..." _

_At the thought, a smile like a ray of light shone forth, irradiating her crystal tears. _

_"... who makes me feel like I'm more than I ever thought I could be. That I'm just ..." she lifted her shoulders helplessly, a joy she had never felt before lighting her face and filling her heart to the brim "... me. And that's O.K." _

_All at once, she needed to tell him, she needed him to know everything. "The truth is ... I love you."_

_Peter's face changed as the smile was wiped away and replaced by an expression of utter shock. _

_"I love you so much, Peter..." MJ gasped out all in a rush, suddenly breathless with emotion. _

_She reached up with her other hand, and clasped his neck, pulling his face toward hers gently, inexorably. Then she kissed him with her whole heart. For a second, his lips trembled under hers and he seemed to hesitate – until, as if he couldn't help it, he began kissing her back just as passionately, just as wholeheartedly, his lips clinging to hers with soft fervency. A deep, mysterious emotion, strangely resembling a feeling of recognition, stirred inside of her. Like their earlier hug, the kiss that they were now sharing felt so good, so right, that it was almost as though they'd done it before. That thought drifted quietly away, though, because of the pleasure suffusing her as she tasted Peter's kiss and gave it back to him. His mouth, velvety and delectable, continued to clasp hers tenderly, making__ her heart race and__ joy pulse beneath her skin. When his lips pulled tantalizingly on hers one more time, stealing one final, sweet, fleeting kiss, her own mouth tingled and nerves kindled throughout her body. Then he pulled away from her reluctantly, his eyes growing guarded and unhappy._

_MJ gazed at him, a little confused. For an all-too brief second, she had basked in the warmth of the love showing in Peter's eyes, but now all she could see was sadness in their quiet depths._

_"I can't," Peter was whispering, almost as if to himself._

_MJ was still confused. She wasn't too worried yet, though. Something was obviously bothering Peter, but she was going to get him to tell her what it was. "You can't ... what?" she prompted him._

_"I can't... " Peter hesitated, stumbling over his words "tell you everything ... I mean ... there's so much to tell ..."_

_"Yeah," she said with a giddy smile, overwhelmed by all they had to say to each other, and thinking joyously of the many ways they would find to share their love. She couldn't wait. "There's so much to tell." She beamed at him._

_Peter didn't return her smile. "I want you to know ..." he was saying, holding her eyes steadily with his grave ones "... that I will always be there for you. I will always be there to take care of you. I promise you that." His words had all the solemnity of a vow, and his face was completely still and serious. "I will always ..." Peter's voice caught, and he seemed to be forcing the words out "...be your friend."_

_For a moment, MJ couldn't believe her ears. This couldn't be happening. It went against everything her heart and her five senses were telling her. She didn't accept it. "Only a friend... Peter Parker?" she asked in a trembling voice, hoping against hope for a different outcome than the one that suddenly threatened._

_Peter looked at her, an impenetrable sadness in his darkening blue eyes. "That's all I have to give," he said with quiet finality, his voice cracking a little. _

_They gazed at each other for a long moment. Then MJ bowed her head, the tears she'd been holding back brimming up and starting to escape, one rolling down her cheek. She was so upset that she sensed, rather than saw, Peter step back and start to walk away from her._

_She began silently crying. She felt as though she'd had her feet yanked out from underneath her, because this unexpected turn of events went against everything she knew, or thought she knew, about Peter and about their fledgling relationship. Inside, she was completely devastated, her pain so wide and deep and profound that she couldn't comprehend it yet. How could Peter go from holding her as if she were precious, and kissing her like she was the one and only woman, to rejecting her love? It didn't make sense. His kiss had been so loving, so passionate, so full of promise. He had not kissed her like a man who only wanted to be friends. _

_Remembering the kiss, she inhaled sharply and touched her fingers to her lips. Only one other kiss had ever felt so good. But it couldn't be ... could it? She turned to watch Peter walk away from her, and noticed that his erect, broad-shouldered, determined posture looked vaguely familiar. _

_For a second, she wanted to run after him, and confront him with the astonishing thought that had just occurred to her. Yet it seemed so impossible. Her grief and heartbreak must be playing tricks with her mind. Yes, that was it. She was so devastated by Peter's rejection she was even grasping after the most far-flung explanations for something that was really very simple: he didn't love her, except as a friend. And what was she doing bringing Spider-Man into it? She couldn't be subconsciously hoping that a super-hero like Spider-Man would save her from heartbreak like he'd saved her life, could she? She flushed with embarrassment. That was patently ridiculous and childish. MJ stood in bewildered confusion watching the stalwart figure get further and further away, until Peter finally disappeared from her sight, leaving her standing alone at a grave ..._

For the first time, MJ wondered what the outcome would have been if she had run after Peter that day, and challenged him about being Spider-Man. He would have tried to deny it, but she would have seen through him at once. Fundamentally, Peter was an honest person and he was also, perhaps for that very reason, terrible at telling lies and offering excuses. If she had forced the truth out of him ... then what? Would he have used the same reasoning that he had used on her recently? Would she have argued with him, forcing him to disclose his feelings and recognize hers?

And what if she had persuaded him, what would it have been like to be Spider-Man's girlfriend? Well, wonderful, of course, because she would have been with Peter, but it would probably also be hard, she told herself – as hard as anything she'd ever done in her life. Peter would be terribly busy, of course, and she'd worry about his safety night and day. She'd also have to understand that, at any moment, Peter might have to leave her to become Spider-Man. No doubt the feeling of coming second all the time would be wearying after awhile. And she didn't suppose that the Amazing Spider-Man really needed a girlfriend. She would have constantly distracted him, or have gotten in the way.

"Time to get dressed," said Madeline Watson brightly, in a voice of forced cheerfulness. "The wedding starts in forty minutes, and all those buttons on the back of your dress are going to take a long time to do up." Then she went to take the softly shimmering dress off its hook. MJ stood up, slipping out of her robe as soon as she saw her mother quickly and efficiently unbutton the numerous buttons. She averted her eyes from the sight of her reflection, clad only in lacy white lingerie, thigh-length stockings and a blue-ribboned garter, not wanting at the moment to think about the circumstances in which the dress would be removed later that night. Her mother held the billowy dress open on the ground, and MJ stepped carefully into it. Together the two of them pulled it up around MJ's waist and over her bust. Then MJ dropped her hands and looked at herself in the mirror while her mother disappeared behind the wide skirt, beginning to fasten the bottom buttons just below her waistline. MJ could already feel the fabric pulling in slightly around her waist.

"Are you looking forward to Madrid?" Madeline asked as she worked. "And Barcelona?"

"I suppose so." MJ said indifferently. "I've never really traveled before, so it's bound to be interesting." When John had suggested it, she had loved the idea of going to Spain. Now, though, it seemed unreal, like something that was never going to happen.

Her mother was steadily, deftly, moving up the line of buttons, and MJ was beginning to feel a little constricted by the bodice of the wedding dress, which was cinching in her abdomen slightly. There were still bruises there, left over from where Doc Ock's tentacle had slammed into her stomach, so the dress chafed a little more than it had when she'd first tried it on.

"I'd love to go to Spain someday," her mother said dreamily, "Or England, France, Italy, anywhere in Europe really ..."

"I hate to admit it, but I don't like giving up the play for a two-week honeymoon, even if it's in Spain," MJ admitted candidly. "It's going so well." Her mother was still slowly buttoning up the long line of tiny buttons running up the back of the dress and now MJ could feel the dress begin to pull snug across her chest. Preoccupied, Madeline Watson made an assenting noise, and MJ continued. "Everyone who sees it loves it, even people who don't normally go to the theater." She thought back to a night a little over a week past, a night that seemed like a lifetime ago now, and smiled slightly in remembrance. "A case in point: Peter came early last week and he thought it was great."

"Oh, so you saw Peter Parker recently?" her mother asked innocently, studiously not meeting MJ's gaze in the mirror.

MJ rolled her eyes and didn't take the bait. Not for the first time, she regretted ever telling her mother that she'd fallen in love with Peter, and that he had rejected her. It had only happened because her mother had been present during a moment of weakness. MJ had suffered from nightmares about the Green Goblin around the time of the bridge incident, so she had slept at her mother's house immediately afterwards for a few nights, only returning to the apartment she shared with her girlfriends two days after Norman Osborn's funeral. Consequently, on the day of the funeral, her sharp-eyed mother had spotted her red eyes and white face as she walked in the door, and of course had wanted to know what was wrong. Somehow her mom's simple question had been enough to set a fragile MJ off again. She had rushed into her mother's arms in tears, rashly blurting out that she was in love with Peter Parker, who only wanted to be friends with her.

After that, for a long time, her mom would ask the odd suggestive question about Peter or drop hints about when he'd be visiting his aunt. Not that she ever said much – she would simply look at MJ in a certain knowing, questioning way that MJ found incredibly annoying. When finally pressed about it, Madeline Watson had explained to her daughter, "I just can't understand it. May Parker and I used to joke together about whether Peter would ever find the nerve to ask you out. He's always had a thing for you."

Her mother's inquisitive behavior had culminated in an unintentionally piercing question, which came just a day after the Planetarium fundraiser, when MJ had told her mom about her engagement to John. Her mom had hugged her, congratulated her sincerely, and then had gotten a funny look on her face. When MJ had insisted on knowing what the look meant, she had simply asked, "What about Peter Parker?" MJ had become almost unreasonably irked, especially when she remembered the painful conversation with Peter at the Planetarium party the night before. "What about him?" MJ had snapped crossly. "A guy who's never around and who shows no interest in me at all? There's never been anything real between us." After that, MJ had put in place a moratorium on questions about Peter, although somehow her mother still managed to weave little mentions of him into her conversation, to MJ's discomfort.

Finished fastening the dress at last, MJ's mother drew back to survey the effect with a smile. MJ lifted her dress's hem slightly as she slipped on strapless, white, low-heeled shoes. Dropping her skirt, she gazed seriously at herself in the mirror, trying to decide whether she was looking at a bride on the way to her wedding or a model in an expensive, fairy-tale gown. She took in the perfect hairdo, with not a hair out of place, the tiny round dangling diamond earrings, a gift from her Aunt Anna, and the immaculate, snowy white chiffon gown flowing off her bare shoulders to culminate in a puffy swirl of mist and foam. Somehow the picture lacked something, some spark that she thought dimly ought to be there. Meanwhile, Madeline Watson fluttered about, carefully arranging the chiffon frills surrounding MJ's arms and skirt so that they would lie neat and flat. Then she picked up MJ's lovely, costly bouquet of white orchids and roses from where it had been left lying on the long,white sofa near them, and handed it to MJ to hold. When she was done, Madeline stepped back, folded her hands and smiled with pride at her lovely daughter, her eyes meeting MJ's in the mirror. Then her smile faded. "Are you sure you're okay, honey?" Madeline Watson asked, for the second time that afternoon.

"I'm fine, Mom," said MJ, but her tone sounded unconvincing even to herself. "It's like you said: I've got a slight case of pre-wedding jitters, that's all," she added, trying again for a smile and barely succeeding.

Madeline sighed, "Look, honey, ... I've held my tongue these last few months because you didn't seem to want to talk. I know you're pretty independent; I know you don't like anyone to tell you what to do. But you're my only daughter, and I just want you to be happy." She took a deep breath. MJ got the impression that she was about to uncork something that she'd been keeping bottled up for weeks. "I have only one thing to say to you." She came to stand close behind MJ, giving her a light squeeze on the shoulders with her hands. "I've made far too many compromises in my life, decisions that don't seem worthwhile now. Please don't _you_ compromise, sweetie."

"John is a good man, Mom," MJ faltered.

"I know he is, dear," Madeline Watson turned her daughter to face her, and then planted a gentle kiss on MJ's forehead. When MJ remained silent, her mom added in a defeated tone, "I should go and join your father." A heavy silence fell as Madeline Watson dropped her hands and took a step back.

The silence dragged on. "Now I've gone and said too much and you're mad at me," said MJ's mom, a look of chagrin on her face.

"No, no, I'm not mad, Mom," MJ said, fixing affectionate eyes on her mother, and then leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. To tell the truth, as had been the case for the last two days, she didn't actually know what she was feeling.

"Well, good," said Madeline in relief. She looked at MJ's serious face for a moment longer and then she sighed and picked up her purse and gloves. "I'll see you out there, then, sweetheart" she said as she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Left alone and waiting quietly in the room, MJ found herself _still_ thinking about Peter. She had tried everything she could in the last two days – or was it the last two months? – to purge him from her mind. Now she understood with a growing certainty that something inside her just didn't want to let go of him. In particular, she kept thinking about the last time she'd seen him, two nights ago now. Despite scratches and bruises, and having stopped a speeding train singlehandedly, he'd been so determined to save her, to save the city. Later, high on the web, he'd been equally determined to save her from himself, from the risks of his life.

Of course, his life _was_ indeed really risky, even for him. But who bandaged Peter up when he was hurt, who fed him, and who looked after him? Well, she knew Aunt May did, to a certain extent, but Peter was far too independent, to determined to pull his own weight, to accept more than the most minimal help from his aunt, a parental figure MJ knew Peter thought _he_ should be caring for now. He also seemed to care for and look after the city, a never-ending job which would probably involve saving it over and over again. _"What about you, Peter Parker?" _thought MJ sadly. _"Who's going to save you?_"

_Aunt May was carrying the filled punch bowl from the table of the dining room into the living room, and MJ followed her with the little cut-glass punch glasses in her hands. MJ had been spending the afternoon with her mother, a visit that she had made partly because she was planning to go to Peter's birthday celebration later that evening. All of a sudden, she'd found herself impatient for the party to begin, almost as impatient as though she were still a little girl. So, after dressing with particular care in a floral pleated skirt and pale blue sweater, she'd come over directly after supper to inquire if Aunt May needed any help getting ready for Peter's party. Aunt May's reply had been characteristic: no, she didn't need help, but she would certainly appreciate MJ's congenial company. _

_May Parker's homey parlor and comfortable dining room did look nearly ready for a party, with covered platters of delicious looking appetizers and finger foods on the table, a beautiful chocolate-iced cake - Peter's favorite - in the kitchen, and red, yellow, blue and purple balloons, along with colorful streamers and "Happy Birthday" banners festooning the doorways. Feeling as though she were reliving her childhood, MJ was thoroughly enjoying keeping Peter's gentle, gracious, ladylike aunt company, helping as much as she was allowed, and simply talking to Aunt May. Inevitably, the conversation had worked its way around to Peter, which was always another bonus feature of visiting May Parker. _

_"I know I'm a foolish old woman, but I worry so about Peter lately," May Parker was saying, throwing a self-deprecating smile over her shoulder at MJ as she placed the punch bowl carefully on a small ornament table against the wall. _

_"Why is that?" asked MJ, responding to May's anxious comment with concern. She hoped nothing was wrong with Peter. It occurred to her that it had been almost two months since she had last seen him, when they'd gone out on an abortive coffee date not long after the play had opened. _

_Midway through the date, Peter had left the coffee shop abruptly, after (apparently) remembering that he hadn't locked his apartment door. He had joked as he was leaving that he was afraid his landlord might ransack his things, looking for loose change and confiscating items in lieu of his overdue rent. They had laughed together at that, but then he had never returned. He'd phoned the next day to apologize, of course, saying something had come up (without specifying what) and she'd forgiven him because his vague apology had sounded so abject, sweet and contrite. But she hadn't seen him since. Now, listening anxiously to Aunt May, she was surprised to realize how much she missed Peter._

_Aunt May shrugged helplessly. "Oh, it's nothing new. It's just that money is always so tight for Peter. He had his phone disconnected again this month, so now I have to call his landlord and leave a message if I want to contact him." She sighed, and took the punch glasses from MJ, arranging them neatly beside the bowl. "And he's been fired from so many jobs, I've lost count," she went on. "He just started a job as a delivery boy for a pizza place three weeks ago, and I truly hope that he manages to hang onto this one, even though it's not perfect." Aunt May shook her head, a slight frown marring her normally serene face. "I worry all the time that he's going to have some kind of accident on that scooter-thing he drives while he's zipping around delivering pizzas like a speed demon." She began to head back into the kitchen, and MJ followed her automatically. _

_"Why on earth does Peter keep getting fired?" MJ asked, frowning. This didn't sound like the Peter Parker she knew, or used to know. _

_"Oh, he's always late for work ... and apparently sometimes he doesn't show up at all. It's no wonder they fire him." May sighed, shaking her head again. "I guess I should have trained him better when he was young. He used to be late nearly every day for the school bus ..." _

_"I remember," MJ laughed a fond, nostalgic laugh._

_" ... but Ben and I thought it was kinda cute. It often happened because he was so busy reading, or studying a leaf, or looking at an insect under a magnifying glass, or fiddling with the microscope that we bought him when he was twelve." May Parker's face was softly illuminated by a wistful, affectionate smile._

_MJ listened with increasing puzzlement about Peter's baffling behavior of late. She supposed she should be glad that Peter's tendency to be late or to forget dates completely was not a sign of his total indifference to her – apparently it extended to everyone in his life, including his employers. Oddly, though, instead of feeling relief, she felt concern. Peter had always seemed so responsible: he didn't seem like a deadbeat or the kind of guy who kept getting fired because he didn't show up for work. What was going on?_

_"He's probably not getting enough sleep either, out all hours as he usually is, trying to photograph that Spider-Man," May observed to MJ, who wisely withheld comment. Aunt May put on a pair of colorful oven mitts, and opened the oven. The delicious aroma of a baking ham wafted out, and Aunt May reached in and pulled out a large, juicy one, resting it on top of the stove to cool. Glistening with pineapple glaze and dotted with cherries like red jewels it looked so mouth-wateringly delicious that it made MJ regret the diet that was keeping her waist tiny enough to fit into Cecily Cardew's old-fashioned dresses. Aunt May had told MJ that Peter's celebration would be a small evening party when she'd extended the invitation nearly two weeks before, but she obviously had something more like a generous late dinner planned._

_Echoing MJ's thoughts, Aunt May continued, "And then, you know, he comes here once a week for Sunday dinner with me – and he's always so ravenous. He eats three or four times the amount that he used to eat even in the last year of high school." Aunt May shook her head a third time. She took a sealed tupperware container out of the fridge and handed it to MJ. "MJ, dear, could you arrange the finger sandwiches in this tupperware on that rose plate on the counter next to the sink, and then put it on the dining table, please?" she interrupted herself._

_"Of course," murmured MJ, getting to work. Then she picked up the thread of the conversation again. "So you think that Peter's not getting enough to eat?" _

_"Oh, I know he isn't," said May Parker, clearly upset as she lifted her shoulders helplessly. "When he hugs me I can feel that his body is too lean – he's practically skin and bone, without an ounce of fat on him anywhere. So I cook a huge spread when he comes over for dinner once a week, and load him up with as many leftovers as I can manage to persuade him to take," she sighed. She smiled ruefully. "Even then, he'll only take them if I convince him that they'll spoil in my fridge if he doesn't." Aunt May's expression softened for a minute, and MJ looked over at her. For a second the two women shared a smile, and then Aunt May said, her voice a little thready, "Well, he's a good boy and he tries. I know he tries."_

_MJ finished laying the spiral sandwiches out prettily, garnishing the china plate with little sprigs of parsley that had also been sealed in the container, and then carried it out into the dining room to put it on the dining table. When she came back into the kitchen, Aunt May was arranging several chunks of cheese on a cheese board, along with a cheese cutter. _

_"MJ, could you reach on top of the fridge and bring me down those boxes of crackers, there's a dear. Then you can put them in those two baskets." May pointed to a pair of small woven bowls that were sitting, lined with napkins, on the small drop-leaf kitchen table against the wall. _

_"Sure," said MJ, smiling. Bustling about May Parker's cheerful kitchen was pleasantly restful and relaxing despite the troubling tenor of their conversation. However, because Aunt May still looked a little down, she tried to be encouraging. "At least Peter always does well in his courses at university." _

_"He used to do well," corrected Aunt May. "Do you know that he almost lost his scholarship last year? I don't know what we'd have done if that had happened. There just isn't enough money left to pay for his tuition fees on top of everything else."_

_"Wow," said MJ slowly. "He didn't mention that to me. How did he manage to hang onto it in the end?" Things in Peter's life must be really messed up, she thought, if Peter, once the brainiest kid in school, winner of all kinds of city and state science contests, was having trouble at school. _

_Aunt May smiled fondly. "I guess he did really well on his final exam in physics. Apparently he got the highest mark in the history of the course – since this particular version of it has been offered, anyway, which it has been, or so Peter told me, for about the last nine years. He had missed handing in some of his assignments in that course, but the exam mark was so high that it saved him." May Parker sighed again. "I don't understand it. He would have died rather than miss an assignment when he was in high school." _

_Then she went on, "I don't know what's happening with his courses this year, either. I don't like to ask, because it always sounds as though he is behind, and talking about it only seems to make him feel guilty." She said this in a faraway voice, looking suddenly drawn, tired and distressingly old, MJ thought. _

_Aunt May visibly tried to rally herself when she say MJ's concerned expression. "Oh, don't mind me – I'm just an old aunt who likes to worry about her nephew. Peter will probably pull off some miracle at the end of term and get another 100 per cent on his exams." She laughed a little, and MJ smiled at her again, touched by how May Parker could be simultaneously so worried and so proud of Peter at the same time. In the back of her mind, though, MJ couldn't believe the extent of Peter's mounting problems. Fired from an endless stream of part-time jobs? Money troubles? Not enough to eat, for heaven's sake? Problems keeping up with his schoolwork? It didn't seem fair that all of this was happening to Peter when she herself was suddenly having so much success – success that had been, in part, inspired by him. _

_The doorbell rang at that moment, and the two women left the kitchen together, MJ bringing the baskets of crackers and setting them on the table next to the cheese board and other snacks. Aunt May went to open the door, while MJ hung back, knowing it would be Harry and feeling a little awkward, as she always did when they met. He strode in, holding a large, professionally wrapped gift in his hands, which Aunt May directed him to put on the table next to the punch bowl. It completely dwarfed MJ's own small gift bag, which contained a year's subscription to Peter's favorite photography journal, some film, and a thick, nicely illustrated book on new and old photographic techniques that May had told her Peter liked to pour over in bookstores._

_"Hello, all," Harry greeted them cheerfully. He was looking good, oozing the suavity and power of a young executive used to throwing his weight around. She was glad he was no longer in the fragile state that he'd been in for most of last year, a time when MJ used to receive many late night phone calls from a distraught Harry, usually when he was most drunk. These were phone calls in which he lamented everything from the loss of his dad, to the slipperiness of Spider-Man, to his lack of a steady girlfriend – a topic MJ never liked to hear about, given their history. Once or twice she'd wondered with some resentment why she was always the one picking up the slack, why Peter never seemed to be there for his friend. She knew Harry always called Peter first before he turned to her, because he constantly complained that Peter was never in, before he grew maudlin about his own loneliness. Harry was a lachrymose, self-pitying drunk – a little reminiscent of her father, without the occasionally brutish and cruel outbursts. While MJ congratulated herself sometimes that she was well out of that relationship, she also couldn't help pitying Harry's obvious pain and feeling that Peter ought to be around to help him deal with it. For one thing, Peter would have had a much better idea of what to say to Harry, she often thought – he certainly always seemed to know how to make her feel better with only a few well-chosen words. _

_"Welcome, Harry," May Parker was saying warmly. "We're so pleased you could come." She hugged Harry and took his coat from him to hang it on a nearby hook. "Peter should be along any minute." Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "I told him to be here at seven o'clock." MJ grinned at Aunt May's tactics, because she distinctly remembered Aunt May saying that the party would begin at 7:30, the time it was now. _

_"Oh, no problem," said Harry , expansively. He looked over at MJ, extending a hand to her. "Lookin' great, as usual, MJ," he said showing her his million-dollar smile. Aunt May discretely withdrew into the kitchen to continue her preparations and to give them a moment to themselves._

_"It's nice to see you too, Harry," MJ smiled. "Thank you for that huge profusion of roses you sent me last week – although you didn't need to send flowers again on your second time seeing the show!"_

_"You're worth it, MJ," said Harry, his movie star good looks more noticeable than ever as he favored her with his most charming smile. He held onto her a hand a little too long, but MJ gracefully freed herself and began to follow Aunt May back into the kitchen. "We're just getting things ready for Peter," she threw over her shoulder. "Wanna help?" _

_As MJ reentered the kitchen, Aunt May was placing a small tray of frozen, homemade hors d'oeuvres in the oven for reheating. She looked up and smiled at MJ as she came in, and said, "It shouldn't be too long now. I put the fear of God into Peter about being late tonight." _

_"Hey, no sweat, we're all used to Pete being late - or not showing up at all," said Harry, coming to lean idly on the kitchen doorway. "He spends so much of his time chasing the bug that he doesn't have time for anything else." Even though he was smiling jovially, there was something in Harry's tone that MJ didn't like one bit. _

_Aunt May and MJ exchanged glances. "I'm not too fond of that Spider-Man character myself," said Aunt May mildly, closing the oven door and removing her oven mitts. "I'm sure that he's the reason Peter is running himself ragged, always out at all hours looking for pictures, risking life and limb – some of the angles he gets look so high off the ground that I'm scared he'll fall. But it's not all Peter's fault. If that Jameson man would only buy some of Peter's other excellent pictures, Peter wouldn't have to chase Spider-Man all the time to get his bread and butter. But every time he tries sell his other photos, he's told that people only want to read about Spider-Man."_

_Harry looked slightly abashed at Aunt May's subtly reproving words and tried to shift the topic a little. "Yeah, that's another thing," he said, the smile disappearing from around his handsome, if slightly sulky, mouth, "I don't get why everyone thinks Spider-Man is such a hero. He's a dangerous criminal, a freak, a murderer; he's ruined my life and probably the lives of a lot of other people in this city." _

_MJ decided she'd heard enough of this; she knew if Harry were allowed to go on, Spider-Man would be the sole topic of conversation for the evening, and frankly she was tired of hearing Harry slam him on evidence that seemed, at best, circumstantial. She slipped past Harry and went to sit down at the dining room table to wait for Peter. As she picked up and popped a little rolled sandwich, made of white bread, ham and some kind of delicious flavored cream cheese, into her mouth, she was suddenly struck by the thought that Harry had simply found a new scapegoat. While his father was alive, Harry had tended to blame him for everything that was wrong with his life. Now that Norman Osborn was dead, Harry seemed to have transferred this tendency Spider-Man. She wanted to shake Harry, to tell him to stop feeling so sorry for himself. Other people had pain in their lives without going to pieces and looking for scapegoats: look at Aunt May, a widow after nearly forty years of happy marriage, her own mother, just diagnosed with stage two ovarian cancer at forty-three, Peter, an orphan who'd lost his second father as well as his original parents, and MJ herself, who'd dealt with rejections of all kinds, both professional and personal, in her 20 years of life. None of these people sat around lamenting the unfairness of life, and blaming others for their predicaments – or, if they did, they didn't let it consume them._

_Harry followed MJ to the dining table, and sat down beside her. He looked a little uncomfortable, but he didn't take back his harsh words. MJ decided she needed to say something to him about his attitude._

_"Harry, do you spend a lot of time bugging Peter about Spider-Man?" she asked quietly. In the kitchen, she could hear Aunt May bustling around, opening and closing the fridge door, stacking plates and cutlery, but decided she would help again in a minute because this opportunity was too good to waste. _

_"I don't see why Pete keeps protecting that criminal bug, when he knows that he was involved in my father's death." Harry said defensively. "So yeah, I may have called him on where his loyalties lie a few times."_

_MJ sighed and said, "Can't you see, Harry, why your attitude might make it hard for Peter to be around you?" She took a deep breath, deciding she was going to have to deliver a low blow. "Not all of us are independently wealthy. Some of us have to work for a living. I think it's a bit rich for you to judge Peter harshly on how he pays his bills, Harry."_

_"Oh, so St. Peter is allowed to make money out of someone else's suffering. I forgot, he can do no wrong," mocked Harry, in a silky, dangerous voice. His eyes burned feverishly in his face, and MJ recoiled a little inwardly at the picture he presented. His normally handsome face didn't look handsome at all for a second, appearing instead gaunt and obsessive. He looked singularly like his father, one of the creepiest men that MJ had ever met in her life – a man who could be smiling pleasantly and paternally at his son's new girlfriend one moment, and raking his eyes over her figure with a predatory smirk the next. MJ mentally shuddered at that disturbing memory and pushed it away._

_"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," MJ said tolerantly, keeping a tight reign on her temper. "You know full well that there is no real evidence linking Spider-Man to your father's death. Your father could have had an accident or something, or been murdered by the Green Goblin for all you know ... maybe Spider-Man was trying to do you a favor by bringing his body back. Plus it seems like wilful blindness on your part to keep ignoring all the good that Spider-Man does every day in this city. Just today he saved two little preschool kids from being run over by a delivery truck, I heard it on the news over at my mom's. A guy who saves little kids is _not _a murderer."_

_She could see Harry fighting to keep his mouth shut, clearly wanting to prevent their argument from escalating. Her heart sank as she realized that she had once again failed to convince him, although she thought wryly that it was at least good practice for Harry to have to learn to bite his tongue once in awhile. She softened her expression and put a placating hand on his arm. "Harry, let's not ruin Peter's birthday celebration with a fight. Neither of us have seen him for awhile, so let's just enjoy the evening and Aunt May's delicious food together, alright?" When Harry nodded, she decided to take a bit of a risk, "And can you give Peter a break about Spider-Man, just for his birthday?"_

_"I'll try," Harry mumbled. At that moment, Aunt May walked back into her dining room with a handful of colored horns and clacking devices. "Do you want some noisemakers?" she asked, smiling her lovely smile, "I'll put them on the table. Let's all give Peter a big welcoming shout when he gets here." All at once, MJ was transported momentarily back to innumerable birthday parties in elementary school; she'd been to many of Peter's, and he'd been to hers as well, and she remembered now that Ben and May Parker had always seemed to enjoy Peter's birthday as much as he did, in contrast to her own mother's harried attempts to entertain and accommodate all MJ's numerous friends by herself while worrying constantly about leaving her busy salon in the careless hands of her gossiping hairdressers. _

_Suddenly they all heard the front door opening. MJ stood up in eager anticipation, while Aunt May ducked out of sight behind the archway into the living room. Peter hurried in the door, as if trying to make up for lost time, tugging off his helmet and removing his backpack and vest with startling speed. Aunt May began a whispered count to three and then they all shouted "Surprise!" with as much enthusiasm as they could muster, and MJ and Harry blew their horns loudly._

_Peter stood blinking in the doorway to the living room in adorable bewilderment. "Well?" Aunt May teased. "Say something!"_

_"Uh ... What's the occasion?" Peter asked at last, smiling in bemusement as they all approached him._

_Everyone laughed. "Oh, really, Peter," Aunt May scoffed. "It's your birthday." She favored him with an affectionately maternal smile,__ and then grasped him gently by his shoulders, giving him a motherly kiss on each cheek. "It's still your birthday ... whether you want to remember it or not."_

_Peter actually looked surprised, apparently only then noticing the streamers, balloons and decorations in the dining room, and apparently having forgotten his own birthday._

_"He lives in another reality," MJ couldn't resist commenting. "Don't you, Pete?" she asked teasingly. May agreed with MJ's mocking remark with a laughing "Yes!"_

_Peter was quiet for a second, but then, as he turned his attention to his friends, he seemed to light up from inside. "Hey, MJ," Peter said eagerly. He appeared as happy to see her as she felt to see him. Her heart actually skipped a beat as he looked into her face, giving her a radiant smile that seemed to well up out of the depths of his ocean-blue eyes._

_"Hi," she said softly, practically beaming, delighted both with seeing him, and with how happy he was to see her._

As MJ remembered Peter's birthday party, she reconsidered and rethought her earlier view that Spider-Man didn't need her. He was anything but an invulnerable hero. Spider-Man might be a super-hero, but Peter Parker was an endearingly vulnerable man. He might have the amazing ability to soar above the city sometimes, performing death-defying feats and last minute rescues, but eventually his feet had to touch the ground again, and when they did, Peter Parker obviously found himself surrounded by nothing but pain, hard times and trouble.

Suddenly she had her answer to the question she'd asked herself about Peter while she was resting high over the docks two nights ago, watching him spin a gigantic web: Peter could never have pursued her openly, in between saving people, for the simple reason that there was no "in between" for him at all. Peter Parker had no life apart from Spider-Man.

Poor Pete – always exhausted, late when he should be on time, behind in his homework and his bills, and, through it all, alone. He could save half of New York but he couldn't save himself. Instead, he got fired from an endless series of jobs, was so short of cash that he couldn't finish a phone call, and was unable to be honest with the woman he deeply loved. In fact, he couldn't share the biggest secret in his life with any of the people to whom he was the closest: his aunt didn't like Spider-Man because she thought he was endangering her nephew, while his best friend would probably hire someone to kill Peter if he discovered who Peter's alter ego was. Meanwhile, Spider-Man was ruining Peter Parker's life. No wonder he'd given up being a hero for awhile. No wonder on the night he'd come to her play he had looked, for the first time since high school, like he hadn't a care in the world. But now he was back to the old grind, back to the punishing routine of privation and loneliness. She reflected that Peter was so stubborn and virtuous that he'd continue to seek seclusion and secrecy, denying himself the assistance and the comfort of friends and family, denying himself her love, all in a misguided attempt to protect the people in his life.

He needed her – oh, how he needed her – probably more than even he knew. And how much she needed him, and wanted to help him, to save him, just like he had saved her so many times. _We could save each other_, she said to herself. For the past 18 months or so, in the same way that Peter had been isolated and solitary, she too had been lonely in a crowd. Just as her heart, wounded by all sorts of fears, insecurities and griefs, needed the protection of his love more than ever, so too could she protect Peter's aching heart from loneliness, fruitless regret, and from the constant carping criticism of people like JJJ and Harry. Neither of them would fare well without the other, but she believed that they could do better than simply survive if they were together, sheltering each other with their love.

And as this inescapable revelation stole over her, she knew, with a wondrous shock of feeling, that Peter Parker was the only man for her.

Then, all at once, she was out of time. She could tell from the faint strains of the organ music wafting through the closed door that the bridesmaids were about to start their procession up the aisle. She was supposed to go and line up with them, waiting at the back of the queue while each bridesmaid walked up the long aisle with measured and majestic steps, one by one, but instead here she was rooted to the floor.

Heart pounding, she felt as though she were suddenly reeling back from a precipice. She couldn't marry John. He was a true gentleman with a good heart. He'd make some woman a wonderful husband one day. But he couldn't be _her_ husband, because she loved Peter Parker. She couldn't seem to stop loving Peter no matter what she did – and not for lack of trying, either. Knowing who he truly was, how much he had sacrificed for her, how much he needed her, she loved him more than ever.

And now what was she supposed to do? MJ felt paralyzed, standing in the sterile white room. She'd have to break John's heart in the worst possible way, a thing she hated to do precisely because she knew from experience how devastating it could be. She supposed that the alternative of a loveless marriage would be worse in the long run, but that didn't change the fact that she was causing harm to a good man, who didn't deserve it and who wouldn't be expecting it. With a heavy sigh, she tossed her lovely bouquet aside and then helplessly dropped into the chair in front of the mirror, bending over almost double to rest her head in her open palms.

The door behind her opened abruptly, and her maid of honor, Louise, breezed in, resplendent in her floor-length black gown and dainty little black gloves.

"The curtain's going up. You're going to be late for your own wedding, MJ," she said brightly. "Lacey's already halfway down the aisle."

MJ raised her head and looked at Louise through the mirror. The smile faded from her friend's lively face as soon as their eyes met. "You're not getting married, are you," said Louise matter-of-factly. It was not a question.

"I don't know what to do, Louise," MJ admitted. "I can't marry John. I'm in love with someone else."

"Hmm." said Louise. "That is a problem." She sat down on the low white couch along the opposite wall, apparently totally unconcerned that a whole church full of people were waiting for them. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her knees and clasped her gloved hands in front of her. "This is the guy who kissed you in the rain, huh?"

MJ gaped at her. "How did you know?"

Louise laughed her warm, contralto laugh. "Girl, the most alive you've been since we've become friends was that night we got drunk together, and then yesterday during the play performance. The rest of the time you've always been somewhere else."

"I feel like such a heel." said MJ softly, looking down at her shining diamond. "I should never have let this happen."

Louise regarded her seriously for a moment. "I don't know exactly what's been going on with you, MJ," her friend said frankly. "But don't forget that you did nearly die two days ago. And look on the bright side, this is better than a costly divorce, isn't it?"

"That's the bright side?" MJ said bitterly.

"Ok, forget I said that." Louise sat up, grimacing. "Anyway, regardless of how bad you feel there's still one thing you have to do."

MJ looked at her quizzically, and she went on: "You can't keep him waiting. You've got to write John a note to tell him that you can't marry him."

"You're right," said MJ decisively. She got up and rummaged around in her purse until she found a pen and a pad of notepaper. Then she sat back down in front of the mirror to write, balancing the small sheet on her knee, using her tiny address book for a hard surface. While she was writing, Louise watched her quietly from the couch, and asked, "Does this guy who kissed you in the rain love you back?"

"Yes, he does," said MJ, scribbling hastily. "But ... it's complicated. He thinks we can't be together, and there's a good reason for that – or at least, he believes that there is."

"Doesn't sound like you agree," her astute friend remarked, lifting her eyebrows.

"No, I don't!" MJ said heatedly, losing her temper all of a sudden. "He needs me as much as I need him – maybe even more. Whatever troubles we will have to face, they won't be as bad as the pain and anguish that we'll both keep feeling as long as we're apart."

Louise was saying something comforting about how hard love could be, but MJ didn't hear her at all, because a passionate desire to go find Peter and confront him had suddenly seized her. She wanted to tell him exactly what she'd just explained to Louise. She wanted to point out to him that he needed rescuing from his unhappy life as much as she had needed rescuing from Doc Ock. And she wanted to tell him that she was the only one who could do it, the only one who could save him from himself. Yes, the more she thought about it, the more she felt a burning compulsion to find Peter, to dispute his unilateral decision about their future and make her own case, to rewrite the sad ending that he'd given them nearly two years ago. Heart pounding, she finished her note and skimmed it over hastily.

_My dear friend John,_

_I am sorry. I guess this is me telling you that I have finally figured out what's going on inside of me, and I find that I can't marry you after all. I'm sorry for leaving you at the altar. I'm sorry for everything. I hope someday that you'll be able to find it in your heart to forgive me. I want you to know that I've really appreciated your friendship and I will never forget you. _

_Sincerely,_

_Mary Jane Watson_

There was so much more that she wanted to say, including good-bye, but she was out of time. She stood up, folding the note. "I need to ask you a huge favor, Louise," she said resolutely. "I know we haven't been friends very long, but I'm going to ask it of you anyway."

Louise waved a hand dismissively. "We've been kindred spirits since the moment we met. You know you can ask me for anything short of my first-born child."

MJ would have laughed, but the situation seemed too serious for laughter. "Will you deliver my letter to John?" MJ asked. "I know it's a lot to ask, but there's somewhere I need to be ..."

Louise stood up and smiled. "Good luck," she said. She put out a hand for the note, and then MJ looked down and began tugging at the ring on her finger. She couldn't bear to wear it for another second. She understood now why she'd been playing with it for the last two days – on some level she'd felt that it didn't belong there. It came off suddenly, and something in her soul expanded and spread out as it did.

"And can you give him this?" MJ went on. "I can't keep it, and I don't like to leave it in the dressing room, for fear someone might take it."

"Sure," said Louise, and she took the ring as well. Then, for a second, the two friends faced each other.

"Can you tell Robin I'll come back to the play tomorrow night?" MJ asked.

"Will do," said Louise with a smile.

"And if you see my mother, can you tell her that I'll call her tomorrow morning?"

Louise smirked and said, "Now you're stalling. You'd better get going before someone else comes looking for you."

"Right, right." MJ ran to pick up her purse, looping it over her head. Then she hugged Louise. "I really appreciate all your help, Louise."

"Yeah, yeah." said Louise with a nonchalant shrug. She grinned. "You can come drinking with me again some time and buy the Margaritas, then we'll call it even."

MJ slipped out of the room, looking carefully in both directions down the corridor and feeling like an escaping prisoner. She spotted a flight of stairs nearby at the end of the corridor, leading down to a side door that opened out onto a parking lot. Almost as soon as she saw it, she was through it, and blinking in the bright mid-afternoon sunshine. Her spirits lifted to a dizzying height. She was free. Across the street from the church was a small but verdant treeless park with paved walkways and a huge fountain in the center. MJ knew that taxis tended to congregate on the street at the other side of it, looking for fares. She deftly pulled a few hairpins out of the expert knot of her hair, leaving the rest in place, and then she picked up her enormous skirts. Everything else remained perfectly coiffed, but the knot of her elegant chignon streamed loose, matching the feeling of freedom and elation in her feet and on her giddy, radiant face. Shaking her hair free, she began running joyously across the park. A few heads turned at the unusual sight as she passed them, but she paid them no attention. She was on the way to find her one and only love, and she had never felt happier. She ran so quickly, on such light feet, that she couldn't help laughing, feeling almost as though she were flying. Having crossed the park, she dashed up to the first taxi sitting by the curb, and opened the door, eager for her life to begin.

End of Part VII

_A/N: One more chapter of fluff, fluff and more fluff. It's not written yet, and I hope you'll forgive me if it takes awhile. I want to do the best I can with it. Oh, and if there's anything you'd particularly like to see in the next (and last) chapter, please feel free to mention it in your review and I may just put it in. _


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: The movie Spider-Man 2 and the characters from the Spider-Man__ comic belong to Sony, Sam Raimi, Marvel and Stan Lee, not to me. _

_A/N: It was hard to wrap things up! I finally managed it, though, and here is the last chapter – sort of. Since it turned out to be even longer than the previous one, I had to split it in two (more or less). This is the first half. For those who asked me to extend the story beyond the last frame of the movie, I've written an epilogue as well. _

_A few words of explanation about this part: I'm not a fan of Longfellow, so I've also included a reference to a Yeats poem that I wish that they would have used in the film instead, because it would have been perfect for Peter's state of mind, in my humble opinion._

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! _

Memories and Revelations

Part VIII

"Are you late for your wedding?" inquired the cabbie, giving MJ a look of amazement through the rearview mirror. She could see him, round eyed, taking in her lack of a veil, her disheveled hair tumbling loose down the back of her head from the fetters of the tight chignon, and her ringless hands as they played over it, trying half-heartedly to impose some semblance of order.

"You might say that," said MJ, beginning to giggle helplessly in spite of herself. She felt almost drunk – giddy and carefree with her newfound liberty and the joy of finally following her heart without any impediments. Today was the day she was going to make Peter listen to her; today was the first day of the rest of her life. She had a feeling this time that nothing he could say would prevent them from being together, especially since she knew that, deep in his heart, he wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him. And if he put up a feeble protest once more, this time she'd be ready for him. She had marshaled her arguments and, if they failed, well ... she knew where he lived and, more importantly, she knew where his aunt lived ... no, Peter wasn't going to push her away today. She giggled again, and said to the cabbie, "As a matter of fact, I'm very late."

"Seems funny that you're not going to a church then," said the cab driver, looking at her askance and obviously wondering if this giggling girl was slipping off her rocker.

"It's not that kind of a wedding," said MJ, breaking into a musical laugh. Despite himself, the cabbie laughed along with her, and then looked a little foolish as he realized he didn't know why he was laughing. MJ was laughing because she felt like a bride at last. Catching her faint reflection in window of the cab she thought she looked like one, too. She felt more beautiful than she could ever remember feeling before: her eyes shone like stars while the loosening hair of her fancy hairdo swirled around her face, the soft and pretty tendrils framing it delicately. She leaned forward, searching the image, and smiled in satisfaction as she perceived that her expression and attitude now showed the expectant, trembling hopefulness of bride on her wedding-day. Things were as they should be.

It was only a short cab ride from the downtown cathedral to Peter's apartment, but it seemed as though she was entering another world from the swanky one she had left behind. The neighborhood was a poor one, and the ancient, decrepit red brick building that the cab pulled up at had likely seen its heyday about a century ago. MJ didn't care, though. Everything seemed to sparkle, touched with the gold of the late afternoon sun. Almost before the cab had fully stopped, MJ shoved money into the driver's hands, not even looking to see how much she was giving him. Then she flung the door open and sprang out, gathering her voluminous dress around her with both hands.

"Wait a minute," called the cabbie. "This is too much. You forgot your change."

MJ banged the back door of the car shut with a flourish, and leaned down to look at cabbie through the half-open front window of the passenger side of his car. "Keep it," she said merrily, her eyes twinkling at him.

"Hey, thanks, lady," said the cab driver, smiling at her incredulously, as though he'd received the final, incontrovertible proof of her insanity with that statement. "Have a nice wedding."

MJ merely replied smilingly, "I will. You have a good day now." Then she swept up the stairs, through the front door, and into the grimy lobby of Peter's apartment building. Someone had propped the outside door open, which saved her the trouble of having to buzz the super, but she still didn't know exactly where she was going. She peered intently at the row of mailboxes, until she saw "P. Parker, 501" pencilled neatly in familiar block letters above one of them. Then, looping her train over her arm, and gathering up her billowy skirt again, she went bounding up the shabby stairwell that lay in front of her. The building didn't look like it housed an elevator, and anyway, she was too impatient to wait for one. As she ran up the stairs, she didn't notice how dingy and decrepit the staircase was, nor did she worry about whether Peter would be home or not. It wasn't rational, but she knew that she would find him in for once, waiting for her – although naturally he didn't know that's what he was doing yet.

She grew a little winded as she reached the top floor of the building, but she didn't slow down until someone flung a door open just as she rounded the corner of the stairwell. Then she nearly jumped out of her skin, halting abruptly and clutching her snow-white dress protectively.

"How about getting a head start on your rent for this month, Parker?" a heavily accented voice called out loudly. "You were on time last month – for once – so why not start a pattern, eh?" A short heavy-set man, with beady little eyes, a prominent nose, and rabbit-like front teeth, emerged through the doorway of a crowded kitchen with these words. As soon as he caught sight of her in all her finery, though, he stopped and gave her a look of sheer astonishment. A cute, skinny teenage girl, wearing a tight, midriff-baring halter top, also came rapidly up to the doorway at the sight of her.

"Can you tell me where Room 501 is?" asked MJ politely and more than a little breathlessly, trying to contain another giggle at their exactly duplicate expressions of amazement. Peter must not get many visitors, she thought giddily, especially not pretty girls in wedding dresses. This time, she was barely able to suppress a laugh. "I'm looking for Peter Parker," she managed to say, somehow keeping a straight face. The heavy-set man continued to gape at her, but the gaunt blond girl, her eyes huge in her pale face, pulled herself together and pointed across the hall. Then the girl found her voice and said, "I – I think he's home – I mean, when I was cleaning the bathroom earlier, I noticed his door was open."

MJ smiled gratefully at her, but the waif-like girl didn't smile back. "Thanks," MJ said, smiling even more generously and showing her dimples. At last the blond teenager gave her a reluctant, wavering smile in response, just before MJ turned away to look for Peter. Faintly, she heard a door close behind her.

Ahead, she could see golden rays of sunlight streaming through an open doorway, which she realized must be his. She hurried forward, all eager anticipation, releasing her train and her skirts heedlessly in her excitement to allow them to drag across the gritty floor. But when she arrived at Peter's door, she had to stop a minute, to catch her breath and to reign in all the tumultuous emotion that she was feeling. She waited for her heart to stop pounding, but it didn't. So, with her feelings still overwhelming her, MJ tilted her head to one side slightly, watching Peter with deep emotion while standing in his doorway.

There he sat on the edge of his bed, his back to her, as cute as ever in his grey sweater, looking straight ahead out of a huge window ... quiet, alert, and waiting. Outlined by the golden late afternoon sun, he looked almost immovable, as if he was going to spend the whole of his days waiting just like that ... waiting for the next crisis, the next siren, the next alarm ... waiting while life and happiness passed him by. She noticed he had a subdued, defeated air about him. Even seated his posture was perfect of course – no slumped shoulders or hunched back for him – but somehow he still looked as if he were bowed under a great weight. Her heart went out to him, her brave, sad, misguided hero, and she thought she'd never loved him more.

As she stood there, collecting herself, Peter suddenly became aware of her. Slowly turning his head around to look over his shoulder, he met her eyes with an incredulous expression. He rose involuntarily to his feet, like a marionette whose strings had been pulled, with a look of wonder on his boyish, handsome face.

MJ gazed into Peter's bewildered blue eyes, as deep and azure as a summer sky, and smiled gently. "Had to do what I had to do," she said lightly, with a nonchalant little shrug of her slim, bare shoulders. Peter was still looking at her as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Warmly, she held his gaze with her own, loving the way that he resembled a lost little boy in that moment, and smiling with ever-increasing tenderness at the sight of his endearingly perplexed expression.

Speechless, Peter could only continue to stare at her. Then, moving like a sleepwalker, he took a few faltering steps to stand in front of her in his doorway. "Mary Jane ...," he began, his eyes still confused – but she thought she could make out the first glimmer of an astounded answering smile hidden in their blue depths.

At the sight of that hint of a smile, she felt the beginnings of a soul-shaking thrill of joy break over her like the dawn. How had she resisted him for so long? "Peter ..." she said, a small, self-deprecating laugh infusing her voice with a musical lilt, "I can't survive without you." Her voice caught and she had to stop for a moment. In the interval she recalled the pain of two years wasted, her daily, futile struggle to pretend that everything was fine. What had it gotten her but sleepless nights and sorrow and heartbreak?

"You shouldn't be here ..." Peter started to say in an earnest voice, shaking his head, but MJ wasn't having any of _that_. She'd heard that argument before, three times too often. No, now it was time for him to listen to _her_.

"I know you think we can't be together," she interrupted him immediately. She gave him a serious, steady look, and out came the words that she'd been longing to say for two days, or maybe it was two years ... "But can't you respect me enough to let me make my own decision?" Searching his face hopefully, she was heartened by what she saw there, the suppressed joy that Peter was striving to contain, as though he couldn't quite allow himself to accept what he was hearing.

Mindful of cost of failure, MJ rushed ahead, insisting passionately: "I _know_ there'll be risks, but I want to face them with you!" She needed him to see how hollow, how meaningless, how false their lives would remain as long as they were apart; she went on, pleading in an urgent voice, "It's wrong that we should be half-alive, half of ourselves." For the last two days, she'd felt like a spectator, or like a nameless ghost looking back over an unfinished life – and all because of one undeniable, unshakeable truth ...

"I love you," MJ breathed. Peter's eyes took on a brilliant sheen – hope and fear and disbelief warring with incredulous joy. She glowed back at him with this fresh evidence of his deep love for her, and realized joyfully that she'd barely scratched the surface of it. She couldn't wait to taste more and to show him how much she loved him back ...

"So here I am, standing in your doorway," she said, drawing nearer to him. "I've always been standing in your doorway." She cupped his cheek with a gentle hand and caressed it lovingly, her thumb stroking his smooth, firm skin with tenderness. At her touch, Peter exhaled deeply, his vibrant blue eyes fluttering closed and then opening again to meet hers, bedazzled and overwhelmed. Her heart jumped in her chest. "Isn't it about time somebody saved your life?" MJ asked half-seriously and half-teasingly, feeling as though her soul were about to overflow with joy.

Peter smiled at her words, the doubt and bewilderment starting to fade from his glad eyes. His lips parted, but he didn't say anything. A familiar silence, full of unspoken emotions and tantalizing possibilities, stretched between them for a second. But Mary Jane was done with waiting and guessing. "Well?" she prodded him softly, dropping her hand and looking into his face expectantly. "Say something!"

This time, Peter's gaze on hers was open, loving and strong. "Thank you, Mary Jane Watson," he said at last, smiling at her with his heart in his eyes.

As he spoke, she felt warm, strong hands encircle her waist and instinctively reached for him again, cradling his face with her hands while they joined their lips together in an intoxicating, passionate kiss. A warm wave of relief engulfed her and, dazed with happiness, she gave herself completely over to the moment.

The kiss was simultaneously the same and different from their previous two. MJ thrilled to feel the same heartfelt connection with him, the same deeply stirring intensity that she always felt whenever he kissed her ... but this time there were no more barriers between them ... there was no reserve, no uncertainty, no more reason for restraint. Their mouths met again with a blinding burst of rapture and, before she could help herself, an uncensored little moan of pleasure was escaping her throat. At the sound of it, his fingers tightened on her sides, sending little sparks shooting up her spine. The radiant heat of his body burned her through the soft chiffon of her dress. Wanting to touch skin, she caressed his face and neck with her open hands, delighting in the silken wonderful feel of him while her own lips pulled at his with soft, absorbing tenacity. In response, his eager mouth delved into hers, insistently clasping her lips over and over again in toe-curling, heartfelt kisses that made her tremble. She never wanted it to end, but thankfully Peter was kissing her as though nothing could ever tear him away. Their lips clung deliciously one more time, then another, sharpening the pitch of her pleasure, and she exulted inwardly at the knowledge that now there was no reason for them to stop ...

... when Peter abruptly broke the kiss and turned toward his window, seemingly in a reflex action. As he pulled away, she suddenly registered the wail of sirens on the street below, sirens that were rapidly increasing in number. Uncertainly, Peter turned back to her, afraid and unsure all at once, his eyes filled with trepidation.

Although MJ had prepared herself for this eventuality, her heart dropped in disappointment. She had never needed her acting skills more as she gazed into Peter's conflicted face and smiled wistfully. Was this what being with him would be like? Was she going to have to put up with their best moments being interrupted?

_Better get used to it, _she told herself unhappily. She had an inkling that having to share the love of her life with an entire city that desperately needed him was going to be harder than she could imagine even now, with the bitterness of their looming first separation like ashes in her mouth. But then she reminded herself that she loved both sides of him, both Peter and Spider-Man. And anyway, having to share him was infinitely preferable to not having him at all. MJ drew in a deep breath, and gave him a sincere, loving smile, one that reached all the way to her eyes. Then, lifting an eyebrow and curving her lips coyly in her most disarming smile, she urged him, "Go get 'em, Tiger."

For a second, Peter seemed paralyzed with shock, until a slow, serene smile spread across his face, the outward reflection of the profound relief that she could tell was washing over him. She knew he was relieved, maybe even overjoyed, that she understood his need to be Spider-Man even in this crucial moment. An instant later, before she could say anything further, before she could even blink, she realized she was alone. Almost as soon as he turned away from her again, he was gone in a blur of speed that she barely even saw. Out of the corner of her eye, she perceived a pile of clothes lying on the floor beside the bed; she ran quickly to the french door which opened out onto a rickety metal balcony, and just barely glimpsed a red and blue figure hurtling through the space between two buildings, streaking around a corner and out of sight. A faint "Whoo-hoo hoo" floated back to her, and then silence fell.

Forlorn, MJ leaned her head against the weathered wooden window frame covered with ancient, peeling paint. She stared out unseeingly into the city before her, feeling different states of anxiety, devotion, triumph and loss. She had rushed over to Peter's place in a blaze of exhilaration and hope, so now she couldn't help but experience a flattening anti-climax at finding herself standing alone in his apartment, her lips still tingling from their interrupted kiss. She felt a dreadful pang, too, because the last two years had taught her that loving Peter Parker was hard, and now, even though they were together at last, it looked like it wasn't going to get any easier.

She wasn't even sure if she should stay and wait for Peter to return, or if she should go home. The memory of her neatly packed luggage sitting in the middle of the floor of her darkened, empty apartment settled that thought quickly, though. She didn't want to go and spend what was to have been her wedding day in an empty apartment looking at the reminders of a relationship that was over. She wanted to spend it with Peter, or as close to him as possible.

She stepped back from the window, only noticing then that the door behind her was still open. Luckily no one had been in the hallway to witness their emotional reunion, and Peter's abrupt, extraordinary departure out the window. She hoped he didn't make a habit of jumping out the window in his Spider-Man costume in plain view of anyone who happened by. She walked over to the door and shut it, dropping her purse casually on the corner of the bed as she passed it. Turning around, she surveyed Peter's room for the first time. It was poor, simple and unprepossessing on the outside, like its owner. With its unadorned white walls it looked almost like a cell in a monastery.

Since it was Peter's place, though, she felt at home despite the room's plainness. A neatly made bed stood in the middle of a bare, hardwood floor, the gold lamp beside it casting a warm amber light over the spartan walls and furnishings. The best thing about the room was its amazing view; the wall opposite her was almost entirely made of windows, with an odd, stained glass window to the left and a french door in the middle. Of course anywhere Peter lived would have to be high off the ground and open to the city, she realized.

Inside the alcove near the french door stood a crowded desk piled high with books, a computer and an ancient-looking printer in one corner. There was also a small television balanced diagonally on the other corner of the desk and a few crates piled beside it. A post opposite was adorned with a small mirror and a newspaper clipping of some kind. Stepping up to take a look at the clipping, she was delighted to see that it was the glowing review of the off-Broadway production of Wilde's _Importance of Being Earnest_, sporting a couple of pleasantly complimentary lines about her performance, which had appeared in the _New York Times_ not long after the play had opened.

But Peter's accommodations were sparse at best. In the far corner of the wall with the door, a cupboard with glass doors held a few white coffee cups, a small stack of dishes and a container of cutlery, as well as what looked to be cereal, sugar, tea, and instant coffee. Below it was a low shelf that housed an ancient-looking toaster oven and a hotplate. Beside that was Peter's sink, with dish detergent, laundry soap, household cleanser and a few other cleaning items arrayed neatly on the shelf above, and a handtowel hanging through a makeshift loop of wire beside it. Being in a relationship with Peter was certainly going to be a change from all the unconscious wealth and privilege she'd experienced with men like Harry and John.

A squat brown bar fridge stood next to the sink. She couldn't resist peeking into it, and, to her amusement, found scattered on the shelves a few slices of congealed pizza sealed in a tupperware, an empty carton of milk, an apple that was starting to shrivel, and a half filled jar of Aunt May's best strawberry jam. Nearly empty containers of peanut butter, mayonnaise and mustard rested in the door. MJ made a mental note to ensure that some decent groceries were added to Peter's meager store in the next day... oh, she was _so_ going to enjoy taking care of him. If he let her, that is ... all at once, she felt a bit guilty, almost as though she were spying, and, shutting the refrigerator door, stood up to walk to the center of the room.

Looking around, she noticed Peter had introduced a few homey touches into the tiny space. There were books everywhere, of course, crammed onto shelves above his bed and desk, spilling out of the wall-shelf behind his door, stacked in untidy heaps on the floor by his bed and on the night-stand. There were also photographs, some black and white, some in color, scattered around the walls of the room, pinned up here and there on the walls, on the posts, and in a line on the wall opposite his bed. Inspecting a pair that hung above his lamp, she realized that they were Peter's own photographs. These two showed different, magical views of the city taken from high above it, one in the mist of the early morning and the other in the dusky twilight. She looked at each one closely, and then walked across the room to inspect a vivid sunset reflecting off the glass and chrome of two office buildings in an interesting visual, a flock of birds rising in a blur of movement in Central Park, a subway train streaming forward out of blackness – how on earth had he gotten that one? – a perfect strawberry lying on the pavement, and a couple of older men, obviously cronies, playing chess ... They were all wonderful, and she marveled at Peter's skill and perceptiveness as she studied them.

Then, on the night-stand by the bed, she noticed a clump of small photos in frames. Among them, she found a picture of herself, which was surrounded by a family photo of an obviously teenaged Peter with his aunt and uncle, a small picture of Uncle Ben in a Yankees cap, and a snapshot of a grinning Peter and Harry. She looked closer at her picture. It must have been taken when she was still in high school, because in it she wore a dark green sweater over a low-cut lavender top, with her hair held back from her face with a slender headband. It was better than most of her professional modelling shots, which tended to turn her face into a blank canvas: here, she appeared girlish and animated, the picture somehow making her look natural despite the slightly heavier make up that she'd favored then. Peter had obviously taken the photo, but she couldn't quite place when he'd done it. She picked it up and sat on the edge of the bed to study it. Peter's delight in her was palpable in the composition of the photograph, the framing of the shot, even the winsome smile that he'd captured on her face ... when had she smiled at Peter like that in high school?

All of a sudden, she remembered a school field trip to Columbia University to see – what was it? – spiders ...

_MJ was watching the super-spiders, completely enthralled. She had always found spiders fascinating, ever since she'd gotten over an early, irrational fear of them in elementary school. She recalled the long-ago day when one had dropped into her hair at a birthday party, causing her to flee the room screaming, and a small seven-year old boy – Peter Parker, actually – had come to find her. He'd taken the time explain why spiders weren't scary, why they were actually pretty cool. Ever since then, she'd found them interesting. They were so small, yet capable of such astonishing things. _

_"Hey," said a tentative voice, nervously. She turned to see the very guy she'd just been thinking about drawing his hand back, as though he'd been about to touch her and had stopped himself . "Can I take your picture?" he asked, smiling shyly and holding up his camera as if to prove that he meant what he said. "I need one with a student in it." _

_He still looked an awful lot like the be-spectacled seven year old who'd told her all about spiders. Boy, was he sweet. Geeky, but sweet. "Sure." MJ gave him her brightest smile. "Where do you want me – over here?" She raised her eyebrows coyly at him._

_Peter agreed diffidently, "Yeah ... yeah, that's great." MJ flipped her shining hair over her shoulder and stepped to the side. "Don't make me look ugly," she said teasingly._

_Peter actually blushed. A guy who blushed ... wow, this was a first. She wished for a second that she could see his eyes behind his glasses, but the glare of the overhead lights on the thick lenses prevented her from seeing them clearly. "That's impossible," he said, giving her another shy smile. _

_Gratified, MJ turned her most dazzling smile on Peter. _Watch it, Mary Jane Watson_, she warned herself, _you'll blind the poor guy_. She didn't know what imp was causing her to act in such a flirtatious manner around Peter Parker, but it probably wasn't a nice one; she had a boyfriend, for heaven's sake – the most eligible guy in school no less, even if he was a bit of a neanderthal. Not only that, but she had also long suspected that Peter Parker had a crush on her. If that was the case, it wouldn't be kind to play with his feelings._

_Peter was focusing his camera lens and snapping a shot. "Ah, perfect," he said appreciatively, advancing the film. _

_MJ was so flattered by his obvious admiration that all at once she forgot her scruples. She began hamming it up for Peter's camera, and found to her surprise that she was enjoying herself. He snapped another picture, and advanced the film. She picked up one of the class handouts, and showed Peter her dimples. "That good?" she asked cheerily. His shy smile and his eager picture-taking were making her feel special, almost like a model. She wished suddenly that Flash or some of the other guys in school could learn from Peter how to make a girl feel good about herself._

_Clearly captivated, Peter snapped another shot. "Great ... that's great," he replied softly, advancing his film for yet one more shot. _

_MJ giggled unselfconsciously. He certainly was taking an awful lot of pictures of her for the school paper. Oh, well ... who cared? She played along good-naturedly. Although Peter Parker seemed to have a bit of a crush on her, for once a guy's interest in her wasn't making her feel uncomfortable. In fact, she felt pretty good – even a little giddy. She pointed at a page on her handout with a "wow" look on her face._

_Peter snapped again. _

_"Hey, MJ!" one of her girlfriends, Lisa, called. "Let's go." MJ looked over to see a large group of students being herded out of the atrium by the obviously harried and annoyed teacher. Distracted, she rushed away to catch up to them, only vaguely registering Peter' s distant, "Wait ... Thanks." _

_As she joined the group, she could see Flash craning his neck, obviously seeking to grab hold of her and stake his claim again with a meaty arm slung around her shoulder. Hastily, she linked arms with Lisa to hold him at bay. Then she suddenly remembered Peter and, regretting her rude lapse of attention, she turned around to look over her shoulder. She was relieved to notice that Peter wasn't even looking at her. He was crouching down, searching for something on the floor ..._

Thinking of the shy, geeky teenager who had made a lonely-hearted party girl feel like a million-dollar model, MJ wondered how far back her feelings for Peter went. Had she been attracted to him even in high school? Had she only refused to admit it to herself because she'd thought it was more important to fit in, to have the cool boyfriend and the big circle of shallow girlfriends? Maybe she had always responded to Peter, deep down, but hadn't been mature enough or brave enough to recognize what was happening inside of her. Well, it was a good thing those days were over. She never intended to take Peter for granted again.

MJ glanced at Peter's digital clock and realized in shock that nearly half an hour had passed. She had no idea when Peter would be back, and in the interval, she didn't quite know what to do with herself. She didn't want to go snooping around his desk or in his drawers for fear she would find something – say, like a journal – and be unable to resist reading it. And she certainly didn't want Peter to think she would become one of _those _girlfriends – the nosy sort who couldn't resist prying into everything. She had a feeling that Peter was an intensely private person. At least, his ability to keep his true identity secret from those who loved him the most made it seem as though he must be. He mightn't take kindly to someone uncovering his secrets without permission.

She wished she could find something to read. There were certainly a lot of books around, but unfortunately none of them seemed to be novels. She could hardly entertain herself by reading up on mathematics or physics; they had never been her strongest subjects, and since the books around were university texts, they would be Greek to her. But then, looking closer, she noticed an interesting departure from the ubiquitous science books, the physics, _Photonics_, human anatomy, biology, _Introductory Quantum Mechanics, Fourth Edition_, and chemistry texts that were scattered around the tiny apartment. In contrast to those, the stack of books on the nightstand were all either plays or books of poetry. There was Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_, T. S. Eliot's _Collected Poems 1909-1962_, _100 Selected Poems _by e. e. cummings, Longfellow's_ Works _and a few others, even a slender copy of Wilde's _Earnest_. Peter certainly had eclectic taste, she decided, distinctly amused. He'd been reading them too, she noted, because all of the books had bookmarks in them, and some even had more than one. It looked like almost every other page of the e. e. cummings book was marked.

She noticed that one book, Yeats' _Complete Poems_, was lying open, face down, and picked it up. A pencil dropped out of its pages and rolled onto the floor with a tiny clatter, as the book fell open at a short poem called "When You are Old." She read it silently. It was poignantly sad and beautiful. Then she looked more closely at the page, noticing that someone had, in pale grey pencil, very lightly underlined the second stanza:

_How many loved your moments of glad grace, _

_And loved your beauty with love false or true; _

_But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, _

_And loved the sorrows of your changing face._

Had Peter been reading love poetry? she thought wonderingly. And had he been thinking of her while he read it? That was just so ... incredibly sweet and dear. Peter was the only guy she knew who would do something this unselfconsciously heartfelt and romantic. Deeply touched, she traced the words on the page with her finger, noticing the tone of longing and regret that permeated the poem. Then, all at once, Peter's cryptic remarks at the Planetarium party, which had seemed nonsensical and insulting at the time, made sense to her. She put the Yeats book softly aside and flipped through a few more in the stack, until she found it. Here too, Peter had lightly underlined a few lines –

_Day by day he gazed upon her, _

_Day by day he sighed with passion,_

_Day by day his heart within him_

_Grew more hot with love and longing ..._

She thought about Peter reading these poems, lonely in his room, thinking she was marrying another and aching with love for her. Then she thought about how she had strenuously tried and tried to let him go, only to find that she could not do it. Her breath was quietly stolen away once more by how big and wide their love for each other was, deep and dark with currents of frustrated longing and fear, like a fathomless sea. It was almost scary. Could it sustain them? Would it grow spacious and strong enough to keep them secure? She hoped so.

MJ put the book aside and stretched out on the bed to think. For her, there were many difficult challenges ahead, she knew. The foremost one would be letting Peter go every day: she would have to learn some self-denial and humility. Even if she knew in her mind that she was first in Peter's heart, his duty and responsibility would often force him to place other priorities before her in his actual daily life – priorities like the safety of strangers or the good of the city. More play performances would be missed, and probably also dates, anniversaries, celebrations and maybe even the occasional crisis. Would she be able to handle not having Peter's undivided attention, along with the all-too frequent absences of the man she loved, which would undoubtedly come when she needed him the most? Could she bear the loneliness that would surely engulf her when they couldn't be together? Her worst doubts were about herself: could she truly help him? She did not want to grow bitter and resentful, miserable in her terror for his safety, or despondent about the uncertainty always surrounding the future. Could she be generous, patient and supportive? She sighed. These were questions to which only the future would bring answers.

If she wanted them to succeed, she would have to accept the problems of being Spider-man's girlfriend with grace – glad grace, to borrow the words of the poem. That would mean supporting Peter wholeheartedly even if he came home wounded or depressed night after night. It would mean distracting him from his cares whenever she could. It would mean loving Peter even when he hurt her by letting her down. It would mean letting him go without recriminations, without resenting the people who needed him, and without disliking the alter-ego who wanted to help them. If she could do all of these things, which was by no means certain, he would save her, enabling her to become the kind of person she wanted to be, and she would save him too, day by day – she'd save Peter Parker from the all-consuming Spider-Man so that he could stand up, breathe and dream his own dreams ...

Then, for a second, she faced her most terrifying fear: the question of what she would do if one day he didn't come home. It was ironic that Peter had been so afraid for her safety, when she knew it was much more likely that he would be hurt or killed than she. The dreadful thought made her heart rise into her throat, nearly choking her with fear. But she made a preliminary decision right then and there. Fears and doubts of all kinds would continue to surround her, swarming thick and fast. The only way to cope with them, to let love win out over fear, would be to confront them head on, one by one, staring them down and not letting them master her. _Love drives out fear_, she thought determinedly.

Peering ahead into the dim fog of the future, MJ knew she was going to have to be strong, much stronger than she had ever been in her life. She _would_ be strong, she promised herself, for Peter, for herself, for the good, good thing that they would create together. Just for a few minutes, though, while she was alone, she allowed warm tears to seep out from under her closed eyelids, feeling them drip down her temples to lose themselves in her hair.

_A/N: The epilogue will be up in a day or two. It's written; I'm just tweaking it. Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think, please!_


	9. Epilogue

_Disclaimer: Not mine. Theirs. What else is there to say? _

_A/N: I've extended the story beyond the last frame of the movie, as some of you requested, although I must apologize in advance for the fact that somehow this epilogue became longer and more meandering than the final chapter itself. I also apologize for the (probably) excessive fluff; it's there because I rather thought they deserved it after all the angst. I make no apologies for shirtless Peter, though. (Tee hee!)_

Memories and Revelations

Epilogue

MJ was startled out of a deep sleep by a distinct thud resounding on the metallic balcony. Flustered, she sat up quickly, catching sight of the clock. Three whole hours had passed while she slept, and the sunlight had faded from a mid-afternoon gold to an early evening copper. She looked toward the balcony. Wearing his full costume, which looked a lot less pristine than the last time she'd seen it a few hours ago, Peter was standing in the doorway of the glass french door, gazing at her. "I can't believe you're still here," he breathed in a tone of mingled wonder and relief. "You look like an angel." Pausing just inside the doorway, he seemed almost afraid to move, as if she was an illusion that he might dispel if he came too close.

MJ arched an eyebrow and stood up. "I'm flesh and blood, Peter Parker, and you should know that I won't be going anywhere." She walked to the balcony door and pulled it shut. Then she stepped up close to him. As she drew nearer, she noticed his costume was scorched in a few places around the torso. She could also detect a strong, acrid whiff of smoke clinging to his suit.

"So I guess I'm caught, huh?" Peter asked happily. She reached for his mask, and gently began rolling it up over his chin, past his lips, pausing only when she reached his nose. Then, tracing his jaw delicately with her fingertips, MJ gave him a quiet, experimental kiss. Heavens but he had a splendid mouth – full, firm and velvety. She lingered over it, inwardly exulting in the thought that now she could kiss him as much as she liked, whenever she liked. After a moment, she broke the kiss for a second to say roguishly, "Very caught. Say good-bye to your freedom, Spider-Man."

"Good-bye, freedom," Peter said nonchalantly, and he bent to kiss her again, pressing a warm hand into the small of her back. This kiss was also soft and slow in the beginning, but it heated up quickly, until they had to stop for a second to catch their breaths. As they did, MJ reached up again, pulling the mask the rest of the way off of Peter's face. Brilliant blue eyes met hers, shining with joy and warmth.

"You have no idea how good it is that you're still here, Mary Jane," Peter's voice was husky.

"Are you home now?" MJ asked uncertainly. Come to think of it, she wasn't sure if Peter ever took any time off. She sure hoped that he did, for both their sakes.

"For the time being." Peter said absently. He was still gazing into her eyes. "Do you want to do something together?" he murmured after a minute.

"Well ..." said MJ, placing her hand lightly on his chest, and tracing the edge of his collarbone with her fingertips. He shivered at her touch, but stood his ground. "We could pick up where we left off when we were so rudely interrupted earlier." She gave him a sly look and he put both his gloved hands on her waist, pulling her flush against him. A welcome tingling sensation spread through her body at the intimate contact. She was acutely aware of Peter, of his magnetic eyes, of the thinness of his costume acting as the flimsiest of barriers between their bodies, and of the way that the stretchy material molded itself to his skin, showing every well-defined contour of his muscular form.

"Mmmm," said Peter, clearly as distracted as she was.

"Or you could give me something to eat," MJ said, smiling more widely. "I haven't had anything since breakfast, so I am getting a little hungry."

"Mmmm," Peter hummed again. He closed his eyes as her fingertips traced slow circles on his breastbone, then opened them again in sudden alarm. "What did you say? You're hungry?" He started babbling, "Ohmigod, MJ, I am so incredibly sorry. Leaving you here alone all this time ... nothing to eat in the apartment ... I am such a poor host ..."

MJ laughed a rich, happy laugh and said, "Take it easy, Tiger. I'm not going to expire of hunger on the spot. I found some cold pizza in the little fridge while I was exploring earlier. I could have that. I love cold pizza."

"Are you kidding?" Peter said incredulously. "Aunt May would have a stroke if she found out you were here and I'd served you _cold pizza_. Plus it's two days old. We should go out."

MJ looked over at Peter's tiny mirror, eyeing the distant reflection of the two of them standing close together. They looked like a mismatched pair from a Hallowe'en masquerade or a costume party. "Neither of us is really dressed for a date," she said dryly. "I vote for the option of picking up where we left off earlier this afternoon. Here's a novel idea: we could order another _fresh_ pizza, have it delivered, and stay in." Her eyes twinkled merrily at him as she lifted her arms, accidentally brushing against his shoulders as she began winding them tightly around his neck. But all at once he flinched, gasping, and reared back out of her embrace. With a gloved hand, he squeezed his upper arm just below his shoulder, his shoulders hunching and his face contorting in pain.

Anxiously MJ exclaimed, "You're hurt! What happened?"

Peter sat down heavily on his bed, rubbing his shoulder and arm. "There was a bad fire in a high-rise apartment building," he said wearily. "Man, I hate fires, especially in tall buildings." He continued to rub his shoulder a little, looking down at it. "I hate the heat and the smoke, the way that it rises up to the ceiling, and goes up stairwells, up elevator shafts, through air vents ... just everywhere. I don't know how firemen do it." He shook his head, and MJ came to stand in front of him, wanting to be near him, wanting to comfort him.

"How did you hurt yourself?" she asked softly, not sure she wanted to know.

"The roof of one of the apartments collapsed while I was trying to get a couple of kids out." He rotated his shoulder, grimacing. "I was carrying them, crouched low to the ground, so I couldn't duck out of the way, and I got hit by some kind of metal support."

She felt frightened at the thought of how much danger he must have been in, but she knew that she had to confront her fear. "Tell me about it," she said quietly, kneeling down in front of him, her elaborate dress rustling and swishing around her as she did.

"Well as near as I could find out," said Peter slowly, "a fire started in one apartment on a middle floor. Don't know why. The firefighters I was working with weren't sure exactly what had happened. They said that they thought the people who lived in the burning apartment had fled, leaving the door wide open."

MJ shuddered inwardly at the thought of Peter rushing in and out of a burning building, but outwardly she schooled her face into a quiet, listening expression. Peter shifted himself laboriously around and backwards, so that he could support his aching shoulder against the wall behind his bed. He appeared so uncomfortable that MJ hoped fervently that he wouldn't need to dash off to another rescue, at least until his shoulder was better.

"I wish people would pay more attention to fire safety in school and remember that oxygen feeds fires," Peter was commenting with chagrin as he settled himself. "Anyway, the fire had spread quickly through the whole floor – the walls were these thin curtain walls and the sprinkler system was ancient. Of course, since it's Saturday, nearly everyone was home. By the time I arrived, there were people trapped in the stairwells, gradually being asphyxiated, there were people trapped on the roof or in the apartments above the fire, and there was a lot of structural damage to the apartments near the fire, which was preventing the firefighters from getting close to it." He lifted haunted eyes to her face. "I couldn't get everyone out in time. Two people in one of the stairwells asphyxiated before I reached them."

"What about the ones that you did get out?" MJ asked encouragingly. Peter looked so miserable for a minute that she wanted to take his mind off his failures and focus it on his successes. "Tell me how you saved them." She reached out to rest a gentle, comforting hand on one of his knees.

"I basically let the firemen do their thing," Peter said quietly, a distant look on his face. "I went into the places that they couldn't get to because it was too dangerous. I grabbed people, carried them back through the fire to the firefighters, and let them do the rest. I just kept doing it until there was no one left to rescue." He took a deep breath, and passed a hand over his tired eyes. "For the people on the roof, I used my webbing and wove rope bridges to a nearby building so that they could climb across to another roof while I was busy inside. The ones who were too hurt or scared to make it, I ferried down to the street one or two at a time." He shrugged. "It wasn't enough. It's never enough."

MJ felt queasy at the thought of Peter struggling, racing against time, risking his life over and over in that confined space. It could have been his coffin. She forced down her nausea and murmured, "I'm sure the people that you saved think differently." He looked at her quizzically while she tried to find the right words. "You're a hero to everyone whose life you have saved, to everyone who wouldn't still be around except for you." She couldn't believe that he'd never thought of this, but he seemed to need to hear it, so for good measure she added, "You're _my_ hero." Then she sighed, and gave a self-conscious little laugh. Before she could help it, she blurted out, "I'm afraid I won't be good enough for you."

Peter's face changed. His mouth twisted in a wry smile and he looked at his hands. "MJ, that is so ... that's silly. You are ..." He took a deep breath, meeting her eyes again, "the most beautiful soul I have ever met ..." He picked up her hand, turning it over inside his and squeezing it gently "... the best, the strongest, the kindest woman I know." His blue eyes were deep and focused as they gazed into hers. "I have loved you for so long ..." His voice trailed off.

"How long?" MJ queried with keen interest. She loved it when Peter gave her glimpses inside himself.

Peter looked shy. "A long time," he hedged. He looked away, but when she continued waiting hopefully, quirking an eyebrow at him, he mumbled, "since before I even liked girls." They looked at each other again and MJ thought, _Wow._

Then Peter's expression lightened suddenly as a new thought occurred to him. "You know, it's actually making the whole experience a bit better to talk about it with you." He released her hand and stretched his sore arm, a more peaceful look on his face. "I've never had anyone to talk about my experiences with before."

"Do you want to keep talking?" inquired MJ. "I could ask you questions." He nodded, but then she hesitated. Finally she asked the question that was foremost in her mind. "How – how can you go into places, you know, that are too dangerous for trained firefighters?"

Peter looked back at her, noticing for the first time her white face, her suspiciously red eyes, her trembling hands. "It's okay, MJ," he said gently, leaning forward to take both her hands in his. "I'm fine. I was never in any life-threatening danger."

"You say that," MJ choked, unable to stop herself, "But it can't be true if trained firefighters didn't dare to enter those places."

"It's not like that," said Peter, shaking his head. He caressed the backs of her hands comfortingly with his gloved thumbs. "They don't have my reflexes. Sometimes, for me, thought is action. And despite what _The Bugle_ says, I don't waste time on unnecessary heroics when lives are at stake. But I can move extremely fast, and I have this ... ability," he paused, thinking hard, "I have this ... extra sense that allows me to find the safest way through danger. It also warns me if something is about to hurt me, or if there is someone nearby who is going to be hurt. I don't even need to see what's coming; this sense lets me be aware of everything around me all the time."

MJ stared at him, startled out of her threatening tears. This "extra sense" sounded very cool, but it didn't change one important fact. "You still got hurt," MJ pointed out. "Your shoulder seemed to be very painful just now. We need to go to a hospital and get it looked at," she insisted. "It could be broken."

"There's no need to _do_ anything," Peter said calmly. He looked into her eyes and suddenly smiled. "I still can't believe you're here, taking care of me. It's so good that you're here."

"Don't change the subject," MJ scolded. She rose slowly from her kneeling position on the floor, shook out her dress, and then sat down facing him on the bed, feeling afraid again. "What do you normally do when you get badly hurt, Peter?"

"Hardly ever happens," Peter said honestly. "When it does, I just manage by myself, using my webs and ordinary medical supplies. I can't exactly go to an emergency room. I'd have to explain each injury and some of them would appear pretty odd."

"But what do you do if you are deeply cut and bleeding, or if you are badly hurt by a gun shot?" MJ asked. "Surely you can't stitch yourself up, or set broken bones."

"Don't need to," said Peter matter-of-factly. "I heal quickly. Very quickly." When he saw by her face that she was still unsatisfied, he elaborated a little. "My webs make great bandages and slings. They suture wounds better than stitches ever would."

MJ bit her lip. She had a feeling Peter could be pretty independent-minded and stubborn. Plus he had just admitted without realizing it that his injuries were more common than he'd like her to believe. "At least let me look at your shoulder," she pleaded softly. She doubted it would do any good but she simply could not be in the same room with him, knowing that he was injured, without trying to do something about it.

Peter looked at her thoughtfully for a minute, frowning a little as he apparently waged some internal battle with himself over whether or not to comply with her request. She knew he was a very private person, and she supposed that she had transgressed some boundary or invaded his space. But suddenly his expression cleared and he smiled his deep, warm smile into her eyes, causing her stomach to flip over. Then he pulled off his gloves, laying them carefully beside him on the bed, and slowly, painfully, started to roll up his tight sleeve. As he pushed it up past his elbow, MJ got onto her knees and crawled up the bed amidst a tremendous swish of gauzy fabric to be nearer to him, touching his shoulder very lightly and gently as she settled at his side. It was swollen and she could feel palpable heat coming from it. She moved her hand onto his bicep, and grew distracted by the incredible feel of his sculpted, muscular upper arm. She had never felt the skin there before. It was smooth and silken, and she experienced a heady rush at touching it. She forced herself to concentrate, and realized that she couldn't even see where he'd been hurt because his sleeve wouldn't go up far enough. Tentatively, she slid her fingers under the edge of the stretchy fabric, inching her way up to his shoulder.

Peter inhaled sharply, but he didn't flinch. His gasp didn't seem to have anything to do with pain, so she probed a little further, watching his face to make sure she wasn't hurting him. He looked back at her with keen eyes that saw everything about her, piercing all the way down to her core.

MJ found she couldn't look away. "Does this hurt?" she asked in an unsteady voice.

"No." Peter swallowed visibly. "Wait a minute," he said quietly. He gazed into her eyes for another second and then, to her utter surprise, he reached for the waist of his suit, and began to pull his red shirt slowly, gingerly, up over his chest, moving with difficulty as though lifting his arm was hurting him. When he tried to raise the tight shirt over his injured shoulder, his breath hitched painfully and she reached up to help him ease it over the edge so they could pull it off his head together. As soon as they were done, he dropped the now shrunken shirt from nerveless fingers onto the pile of his clothing on the floor, and exhaled heavily.

MJ froze as everything inside her came to a complete stop. Her mouth went dry. He was beautiful ... smooth and chiseled, lean and strong, and … bare.

Peter rested against the wall behind the head of the bed, still looking at her, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks, and his hair adorably ruffled from pulling the tight shirt over his head. He drew in rapid, shallow breaths as he watched her, and she thought that his blue eyes twinkled at her obvious admiration. She could see every breath in the movements of his chest and stomach and she was mesmerized.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, MJ wished she could keep herself from staring, but Peter's body came as such a pleasant surprise that there was no hope of modesty now. Prompted by an unstoppable new fascination, she reached out to touch his naked chest, only remembering herself just before her fingers made contact with the firm expanse of skin. Embarrassed, she realized that her hand had not been anywhere near his shoulder and dropped it into her lap, her face flaming. He would know what she had wanted to do.

"Go ahead," he said, huskily, and again she seemed to be drowning in a sea of blue. Pulling herself together, she shifted around so that she was sitting right next to him, up against the wall. "Lean forward," she said, managing to keep her voice steady this time. "Let me see your shoulder."

He complied, raising his knees and folding his arms on them, giving her perfect access to his bare shoulder. As she passed a gentle palm over the curve of his back heading towards it, he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes. His shoulder felt puffy and hot, and she leaned back to get a good look at it. She gasped when she saw the angry, swollen combination of red, purple and black marring the skin. "It must be broken," she breathed nervously.

"I'm fairly sure it's just a bad bruise, Mary Jane," said Peter in a reassuring voice, looking at her over his shoulder. "It will start to fade in an hour or so and by tomorrow it will be gone," he stated definitively. He gave her an encouraging smile.

MJ wanted to argue, but she bit her tongue and looked again at his wounded shoulder, moving her hand softly from the top curve, back along the shoulder blade and in towards the dense, compact muscles there. Of course, Peter knew his own body best, and he probably also knew what he was talking about from far too much experience, experience that she was sure she didn't want the details of. She felt a rush of love, and stroked his sore shoulder with a feather-light touch, wanting to fix him, wanting to keep him safe. Peter sighed happily and she regarded his face. She could just make out the curve of his cheek, and she saw from the long, sweeping lashes resting there that his eyes had closed at her latest touch. Not for the first time, she realized that she wanted never to stop touching him. His skin was satiny and firm, and he obviously liked her caresses: his lips parted as she brushed her fingertips up over his shoulder blade again, stopping just below the swollen shoulder. She felt a warm thrill at the thought of bringing him pleasure in this simple way.

He leaned further forward, shifting away from the wall, giving her access to more of his back. It felt so good to touch him like this that she moved her hand a bit lower along his side, scraping her perfectly manicured fingernails lightly on his skin. He made a muffled noise deep in his chest, and leaned almost all the way forward, offering the whole of his back.

Feeling very daring, MJ worked herself between his back and the wall. Her voluminous skirt got in the way, bunching up between them, so she impatiently pulled it high around her waist, and pushed the bulk of it to one side, where it streamed off the bed and puddled on the floor. Then, blushing a little at how immodest she must look, she stretched her stocking-encased legs along each side of him, bending her knees slightly and getting ready to pull him into her arms.

"Lean back now," she said, and paused, shocked at how low and velvety her voice sounded. Where had that tone come from? With another soft, happy noise, Peter leaned back at once, reclining against her heavily, with his head lolling comfortably on her shoulder. She thrilled at the relaxed weight of him, at the heat of his body radiating through the stiff bodice of her dress and burning into her chest. Without stopping to think about it, she lifted her hand and traced the slope of his toned stomach, reveling in the smooth lines of it and in the tautness of the muscles underneath the surface. A shockwave rippled up her arm and lodged in the pit of her belly. Her excitement grew as she began running her fingers lightly along his ribs, moving them gradually towards the center of his chest. But all at once Peter caught her roving hand, gripping it gently around the wrist and stopping her. Then he craned his neck back, and she realized his eyes were now open as he fixed her with hot, intense look, before he swiftly closed the remaining distance between them by tilting his head toward her and kissing her.

His mouth was urgent and tender, and she wanted to rediscover everything about it. She parted her lips against his and lightly flicked her tongue along his once. When he responded with a light, scintillating touch of his own, a rhythm built between them that they could not control or slow down. "Oh, Peter," she murmured, half-drunkenly. "Peter ..." She almost didn't recognize her own voice, it sounded so desperate and needy.

Peter continued kissing her deeply, loosening his hold on her wrist and instead covering her hand with his in a warm clasp. She drew him even closer with her other arm and pressed feverish, open-mouthed kisses into his delicious mouth, exulting in the tiny whimper that Peter made in the back of his throat as she did. A spiral of intense heat had started in the pit of her stomach and was coiling throughout her body, making her think wicked thoughts. Giving into them, she spread her free hand across his chest, palm flat against his wonderful skin, and then began sweeping it slowly across and down and around as she kissed him, wanting to feel every inch of his front. He gave a full body shudder, and, lightning-fast, caught her other wrist with the hand of his bad arm, flinching as the sudden movement resulted in a twinge of pain. "You vixen," he gasped, his voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

"Pete, I'm so sorry," said MJ, instantly contrite. "I just meant to tease you, and I didn't think about your poor shoulder."

"Oh, I know what you meant to do," Peter said, sitting up slowly. Sliding himself forward, he swung his feet off the side of the bed and looked back at her as she leaned weakly against the wall in a totally breathless and disheveled state. There was an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes this time. "I'm just not sure if my shoulder can handle what you have in mind at the moment," he murmured, bending toward her to give her a soft little kiss. They were sweetly distracted for a few seconds, until Peter pulled away again and asked in a slightly shaky voice, "How about we order that pizza now?"

"Sounds great," said MJ, still trying to catch her breath. She was hungry all right, but not for pizza. She eyed him like a cat with a bowl full of cream. "How long did you say it usually takes you to heal?"

Peter laughed, reddening slightly. "Depends," he said, a little shyly. "Sometimes, if I am motivated, I'll feel better in less than an hour, sometimes it takes until the next morning, and sometimes another day or so."

MJ leaned very far forward, this time sliding her arms around Peter's neck gently and slowly, being careful not to brush against his sore shoulder. She gave him a beguiling look from under her lashes. "And are you motivated to get better quickly now?" she asked seductively. She closed the remaining sliver of distance between them, and planted a soft, teasing kiss on his lips.

"I didn't mean ..." Peter stumbled over his words, as her lips found his again, tugging softly and insistently on his mouth in a way that had them both shivering at the tiny, delicious thrills that began coursing through their bodies. He tried again. "If someone needs my help, I can usually ignore ..." he mumbled, until he was once more side-tracked as MJ kissed him, simultaneously sliding even closer to him on the bed, her dress rustling and whispering with promise behind her. When she was right next to him, she sinuously wrapped her silky, stocking-clad legs around his waist. "Oh boy ..." Peter managed to say in a strangled voice, before her lips descended on his again for yet another succulent kiss.

"Even better," MJ murmured happily between kisses. "I'll gladly distract you from your pain." All of a sudden, Peter was pressing her body firmly against him, his hands resting on the middle of her bare back while he returned her kisses with definite enthusiasm, his mouth lingering longer over hers with each one. Their succession of lazy, lengthening kisses became one pleasurable, continuous, almost endless kiss that went on and on, intensifying steadily the longer it lasted. As they clung together, MJ drew a hand down from around Peter's neck, passing it slowly over his collarbone and eventually curling it possessively over one of his sculpted pecs. His smooth chest felt like warm, satiny marble and she touched it with delight, becoming more adventurous by the second. As she trailed her fingers down, over and around his front, he shuddered again, but this time he made no move to stop her, so she continued caressing him freely while their lips mingled, parted and joined again heatedly.

While she caressed him, Peter in return stroked her bare upper back tentatively and lightly with both hands as he kissed her. She thought she might swoon from the heady, drugged feeling of pleasure that suffused her body at his touch. Little electric shocks seemed to pass from his fingers into her, sparking along her spine and settling in her belly, before eventually spreading everywhere else, creating as they did a succession of warm tingles that grew into undulating waves. The feeling was so dizzying she almost felt as though she were slowly sinking backwards – until suddenly the rough, scratchy flannel of the blanket grazed against her tender skin and she realized abruptly that Peter had gently pushed her onto her back. Now, despite his sore shoulder, he was easily supporting himself on his elbows and looming over her as she lay beneath him, offering up to him her most passionate kisses and caressing his strong back with both her hands. Giving her ardent, focused kisses in return, he pressed her deeply into the bed with his firm chest, as though trying to get as close as possible. Since his feet were still on the floor, though, he was contorting his body sideways at an odd angle to reach her. Yet he didn't seem to be feeling any discomfort – or so the leisurely tenderness of his kisses, and his cute, intermittent murmurs of satisfaction suggested.

MJ's head was spinning. Although Peter wasn't allowing his full weight to rest on her, she felt encompassed and surrounded; she relished the pressure and the burning heat of his body; she craved even more of the exquisite, dizzying sensations that their kisses were arousing inside her. Eagerly, she unwrapped her legs from around his waist, stretching them out widely on the bed to give him more freedom to maneuver ... but instead of settling fully on top of her, Peter gently pulled back, disentangling himself carefully from her arms and legs, and sat up for a second time.

"You are incredibly tempting, Mary Jane," Peter said in a slightly hoarse voice, "But I really think we should stop now." She pouted adorably and he averted his gaze from her pursed lips hastily. "I could kiss you forever, MJ, you know that," he said, his voice unsteady "... but everything between us is so ... new and ..." He returned wide and anxious eyes to hers, and she was touched to see how nervous he was.

Then Peter got hold of himself and added softly, "Believe me, Mary Jane, I want you ... I want us to be together ..." Her stomach turned over at the intent look in his deep blue eyes. He wasn't finished, though. "But not like this – in this ugly room with paper-thin walls, with you still wearing the wedding dress you were going marry another man in." He was silent for a moment, just looking at her. Finally he softly asked, "Can we take things slow tonight? After all, this is sort of our first date. We have so much to talk about." Then he smiled shyly at her, looking unbelievably cute. "If there are no interruptions, I'd like to spend some time together just hanging out and eating pizza. Later, when it's dark enough, and once the shoulder is better, Spider-Man will take you for a wild tour of the city on the way home, if you like."

Still disoriented by their kisses, and a little embarrassed at her wantonly uncovered legs and totally disheveled appearance, MJ could only nod for a second. Privately, she had to admit that it was rather unusual not to be the one to put on the brakes – a nice change, but a little disconcerting. She sat up herself, arranging her now very creased skirts to cover her legs modestly. "It's okay, Tiger," she reassured him when she finally found her voice. Come to think of it, the thought of spending a quiet evening with her love, followed by another remarkable high-flying ride through the city, was incredibly appealing. Aloud, she added, "You've got yourself a date, Peter Parker." Her green eyes gleamed at him with humor and happiness.

"Whoo hoo," whooped Peter like a gleeful kid. He gave her a quick, enthusiastic kiss, and then his face sobered. He sighed, "I just wish the setting were a little more romantic." He stood up as he was speaking and walked over to one of the crates. Pulling out a plain white t-shirt, which read "Math League '01" across the front, he put it on, this time hesitating only briefly as he lifted his sore arm over his head. MJ couldn't help being a little sorry to be losing sight of all that gorgeous real estate which was now being covered up.

Tugging the t-shirt down over his flat stomach, Peter smiled sheepishly at her, "You'll think it's silly, but I used to spend a lot of time in high school imagining what we would do on our first date if we ever went out."

"What did you plan for us to do?" asked MJ, intrigued. He was so sweet. And despite the fact that he was right about the ordinary, drab and unromantic appearance of the room, now that he had returned, she knew that this evening was definitely, without question, turning into the most romantic date she'd ever had.

"Oh, different things," said Peter, blushing a little again. "It varied with the season. In the winter, I'd imagine us skating under the stars; in the summer, we'd be biking around the neighborhood, or walking through a green park." He paused, looking off into the distance for a second, and a shadow crept across his face. "Once I thought I would like to get my hands on a car, and take you driving wherever you wanted to go." He re-focused on her eager, amused face and drew in a shaky breath. Then he resumed, "After I became Spider-Man, I used to imagine taking you soaring through the city, or building you a web high in the air so we could enjoy the spectacular view."

It was interesting to know that there was a "before" and "after" in Peter's life; MJ filed that last intriguing little tidbit of information away in the back of her mind for future reference. The rest of her mind was thoroughly delighted at Peter's imagined dates. Then she had a mischievous thought. "You know, this isn't really our first date, Pete," MJ smiled, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "You've already taken me flying, and just two days ago you built me that fantastic web ... I'd say that this qualifies as a third date."

Peter raised his eyebrows. "You don't give up easily, do you?" he said in amused admiration. His blue eyes twinkled like a starry night sky. Then, when she shook her head merrily, he defiantly pulled out his desk chair and sat down with the air of someone who wanted to put as much distance as possible between them. MJ briefly enjoyed the thought that, if she wanted to, she could make Peter suddenly seek to close that too-wide gap, with about as little effort as lifting her baby finger. She'd never felt so powerful, so desirable, as he was making her feel. But she could be magnanimous in her newfound power – for the moment, she allowed Peter to remain where he was.

His smile fading, Peter regarded her thoughtfully for a long moment. Clearly, he had something on his mind. "Mary Jane, you're absolutely sure you want to be with me?" he asked reluctantly. MJ stared at him. Where was this last-minute doubt coming from? She felt more than a little exasperated.

"Silly me. I would have thought the fact that I pined for you for nearly two years, ran away from my wedding and waited here all afternoon would convince you," she remarked incredulously. She held his eyes with hers, determined to make him see that she was in deadly earnest once and for all. "Yes, Peter Parker, I _love _you ... I want to spend my life with you."

Peter blushed adorably again, and said, "I just meant ... I don't think you have any idea of how crazy my life can get." He shook his head. "How much crazier it's about to get."

"What do you mean?" asked MJ in concern.

Peter smiled ruefully. "You're not the only who saw me with my mask off two days ago, MJ. A whole carful of passengers on that train I stopped saw my face." She thought she could detect a hint of fear behind his eyes. "Someday soon someone's going to figure out who Spider-man is, and people are going to come looking for me." He regarded the floor. "They may be looking for me right now."

"Peter, haven't you been reading the newspapers?" MJ asked softly. Peter shook his head. It occurred to her that maybe he was afraid to look at them, afraid that he'd already been exposed. She felt another warm rush of love, this time mixed with pity. She could help alleviate these fears, at least a little. "Well, I read over half a dozen different accounts of your exploits, and I watched quite a few television news stories as well. No one on that train has even mentioned that you weren't wearing your mask."

"Really?" said Peter in amazement. "They said they wouldn't ..." His voice died away for a moment. Then he frowned. "That doesn't mean that someone won't come forward later."

MJ shrugged. "We'll deal with that _if_ it happens – but I doubt that any of those people will say anything, I really do. You should have heard them. All they could talk about was what a hero you were. They're really grateful, and they said so. They owe you their lives, Pete ... people don't forget a debt like that."

Peter was silent for a moment, thinking, then he met her eyes again. "Someone else saw my face that night, MJ," he said quietly. "It was Harry."

Whoa, this was bad news – a real blow. MJ had not listened to Harry's vehement tirades against Spider-Man at different times for nothing. But no matter how tormented and childish he could be, Harry was still Harry. She had to believe that. So she said gently, "I know that Harry hates Spider-Man. But he's also your friend, Pete, and he really loves you." MJ went on, "Maybe now that he knows who you are, he'll give up his grudge." Something niggled her in the back of her mind, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"It's not that simple," Peter replied, wearing a grim expression. His face darkened and his eyes grew angry. "Harry was the one who put in motion all that insanity – your kidnapping, the second fusion experiment ..." Peter spoke in voice of quiet rage, "He traded Oscorp's supply of tritium for a chance to kill Spider-Man, and he didn't care that you could have died ... that the city could have been leveled ..." He folded his arms, his body tense and coiled up with suppressed fury.

MJ's head started to throb as she suddenly remembered Ock's cryptic words. Had Harry really let his obsession with Spider-Man take him that far? Could their friend really turn into a murderer? She shuddered at the thought. As if in answer to her silent questions, Peter continued, "He stood over me with a dagger, MJ, and he would have stabbed me. I know he wanted to kill me – he was deadly serious – I could see it in his eyes." Peter's look was bleak. "I was still really woozy from being knocked out by Dr. Octavius, and I escaped because Harry just couldn't resist knowing who I was, what I looked like ... When he took my mask off and saw my face, well ... then he dropped the knife."

"See?" MJ encouraged. Peter's story was almost unbelievable, making Harry sound like a total stranger, or some kind of a nut. Maybe both. She felt as though she was grasping at a thread, but Peter seemed in such low spirits that she had to say something positive. "Harry couldn't go through with it. That's because deep down he cares about you, and he'll know now that you couldn't have killed his father."

Peter just looked at her for a minute, his face still, his eyes deep and unfathomable. She was just starting to wonder if there was something he wasn't telling her, when he spoke again, and the sadness in his voice drove the thought from her mind. "Even before he knew I was Spider-Man, I think Harry was starting to hate me." Peter's expression clouded even further, and he wore a heart-wrenching look of regret on his face. "Spider-Man has come between us and ruined any trust that we used to share ... but, even without that little complication, he has apparently resented me for a long time."

"What are you talking about?" said MJ with a tiny disbelieving laugh. "I remember how you used to help him with his homework, how much time you used to spend together. You were inseparable."

"I know." If possible Peter looked even more regretful, and MJ was sorry she had brought up the past. "But you should have seen him that night at the Planetarium party, MJ." He sighed heavily. "He blames me for everything ... for losing you, for the way his father treated him ..."

MJ winced at the thought of that awful evening. She vaguely remembered seeing Harry stumbling back to the bar, followed by the cold stares of curious onlookers, just after John had embarrassed her by announcing their engagement practically the instant she'd said yes. Poor Peter, that night must have been one of the worst in his life – first to be rejected by her, his only love, in favor of another man, and then to be condemned by his best friend. MJ made a frustrated noise; she didn't like being classed with Harry, even in her own memory. How could they both have known Peter so little, been so blind and so heartless?

"Harry's always blaming his troubles on other people," MJ said finally. "He's not very mature, but he's got to grow up some time, Peter." She paused, searching for the right words. "Knowing you and seeing you, the real you, has made me grow up pretty fast." She smiled warmly at him, and Peter gave her a tiny smile in return. "Now that Harry knows who you are, he'll have to grow up too," she finished hopefully.

But Peter's body language showed that he was still tense and anxious, and Mary Jane decided all at once that there was entirely too much distance between them. She got up and advanced on him, perching herself lightly on the edge of his lap, with her dress whispering, streaming and pooling around them. Gently, she stole her arms around his neck a third time, and rested her forehead tenderly against his. He loosely encircled her waist with his arms, and leaned into her, closing his eyes and releasing a deep sigh, this time one of contentment. "Whatever happens, it'll be you and me together, Pete," murmured MJ. They rested quietly in each other's arms, their faces touching softly and their hearts beating in sync. Her eyes closed too, in bliss.

MJ tried to look forward, to imagine what was coming next, but the future was dim and viewless, their new relationship as yet an uncharted path into its darkness. She didn't feel afraid as long as they were resting in each others' arms, this close together, but she knew everything would seem even more fraught and mysterious when they had to be apart again. Above all, she realized there were still many mysteries to Peter Parker. Although she looked forward to solving each one of them with him, she wondered how easily he would give up his secrets. She opened her eyes to search his face, and found him gazing at her with a tenderness that made her heart quicken.

"You and me, huh?" said Peter softly.

"Yes."

"Whatever happens?" he asked, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Whatever happens," she assured him. He shifted her until she slid from the edge of his knees all the way down into his lap. Then he kissed her.

The End

_With that, it's done! As always, I would greatly appreciate reviews of this chapter, and indeed of the entire, completed story_. _Does it hang together properly? Did I manage to wrap everything up to your satisfaction? Was MJ's growth consistent and believable? Were the flashbacks a good story-telling strategy? Too many questions, I know, so I'll just end with this: thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and thanks for reading. You were a wonderfully supportive audience!_


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